


Bishops Knife Trick

by Brionia



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, I Don't Know Where This Is Going, Injury, Mutual Pining, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn, Smut, all of the feels babeyyyyy, be kind, my first fic on ao3, no beta reader so if you catch me slipping that's on me, oooh yeah I just added the 'mutual pining' tag y'all know this about to get good, probably not the slowest of slow burns AT ALL, unnecessarily dramatic star-crossed lovers basically
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 54,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brionia/pseuds/Brionia
Summary: “As I have just saved you from gasping out the last few breaths of your miserable existence on some foul planet,” He paused, resting his chin on his fist; his darkening eyes never leaving yours, “I would suggest that youwatch your tone.”ORThe Master rescues you from certain death, giving you an uncertain, but not wholly unwelcome second chance.A second chance that he just cannot keep himself from meddling with.
Relationships: The Master (Dhawan)/Reader, The Master (Doctor Who)/Reader
Comments: 481
Kudos: 593
Collections: The Master Fics





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! This is my first published fic on AO3. I've published stuff on other sites (tumblr @cloudywithachanceofjam and @horrendoushaddocks, and wattpad in the distant past lmao), but this is my first fanfiction in a while.  
> I saw Sacha Dhawan as the Master and just... couldn't resist.  
> As of right now I am not sure where this fic is heading, but I have hope it's somewhere worth exploring.  
> Enjoy! :)
> 
> Title is from the FOB song of the same name x

You were running. Running through the bleak, radioactive wasteland of Orphan 55, away from the Dregs, away from the hotel, leading the creatures out into the beyond. There were tears streaming down your cheeks, and you wasted a second just to hastily swipe at them with the sleeve that wasn’t dripping blood.  
You were a fool to think that this could’ve ever ended well. 

The ground was uneven and treacherous, more than once you’d stumbled and your heart had been flung into your throat, the panic threatening to choke you. _At least they’ll get out alive_ , you thought, prayed, and kept running. You knew already that the odds were hopeless for you, it had been the kind of reckless act of self-sacrifice that the Doctor warned you against, but it had at least been successful. Well, up until you’d gotten injured. Your lungs were burning now, and you could hear the Dregs gaining ground behind you. The sound of their animalistic cries sent a sharp pang of phantom pain through your shoulder, and you grimaced, yelling out as you pressed your palm against the wound to slow the profuse bleeding. There was just too much, the Dregs had sharp teeth and an even sharper sense of smell.

This was it.

As your legs shook and your eyes began to blur, you hallucinated the faint sound of the TARDIS, that familiar, metallic whirring. It would be nice to die believing that she'd come back for you, you decided in your pain-induced haze. But then that would've defeated the very purpose that you had run. This once-familiar planet, with its unfamiliar air and its unfamiliar sky, this is where you'd fall. And as your knees finally gave out from under you, sending you plummeting towards the toxic ground, fall you did. At least you hadn't landed on your shoulder. 

You looked up as a piece of space debris burnt through the poisoned atmosphere, fire streaking across the clouds before you. It was magnified as if close by, and there was that same giddy, endless whirring as if the planet itself was a giant clockwork beast propelling itself forward through space. The thought made your nausea rise tenfold.  
The ringing in your head sounded almost like a drum, and then like that dizzying noise that seemed to pierce the sky above you, and then like nothing at all. And as you lay dying, on the Orphan planet that was once your home, a strange sense of peace overcame you.

The last thing you remember was warmth.

Warmth, and the faint smell of cinnamon.


	2. Sifting Through the Sand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Thanks to all of you who commented on the prologue, I really appreciate your feedback.  
> The next chapter may take a little longer, I'm afraid, as I'm struggling with sinusitis at the minute (NOT Corona related, don't worry), so writing isn't that easy.  
> Anyway, hope you enjoy this update! :)

You awoke fourteen hours later.

As it had turned out, not only did death smell like Christmas, but it was temporary too. When your eyes fluttered open, you were laying across a chaise-longue that was luxuriously upholstered in a plush terracotta fabric. A dark knitted blanket was flung haphazardly across your lap, and when you tugged it up to your chest, you found that it, too, was scented faintly with cinnamon.

You spent an odd couple of minutes assessing your apparent immortality before glancing about at your surroundings. What you found made you think that you might have indeed died. And yet, then again, why would the afterlife be so untidy?  
You were in a large, open chamber, dimly lit by a pulsing light in the centre of the room, filled with what appeared to be shelves upon shelves of books and trinkets. Wildly disorganized though it was, the room’s dishevelled elegance saved the space from being clinical.  
It was eerily familiar. 

The light in the centre pulsed again, and with it the pounding in your head returned. With a groan, you attempted to sit up, shoulder aching in protest. You raised your other hand to support it, expecting to find the warmth of thick, sticky blood, but touching soft cloth instead. Your fingers scrambled over the new dressing, and you turned your head sharply to gawp at the bandage that now wound its way across your shoulder and bicep. It was even tucked neatly under your armpit. The sight of it, so comfortingly uncomforting, inspired a lingering unease within you, and though you were relieved to be alive, you couldn’t help but feel like a wounded animal backed into a corner. Your skin erupted in goosebumps.

“I was wondering when you’d wake up, sweetheart.” Announced a smooth voice. You nearly fell off the chaise-longue from the shock of it, jumping a good foot in the air. Your eyes began to scan the space, darting from corner to corner as your heart raced in your chest. A formless threat.

“You were out for quite some time.” A shadow descended the stairs directly opposite you, devilishly warped by the strange light, voice raised and amused and oh so casual. The pounding in your head worsened again as the figure chuckled, the sound tugging at something dark and familiar.

“Who-?” You started to speak, but your own voice sounded foreign and far-away, as if your mouth was stuffed with cotton. You heard the crisp sound of his shoes against the floor before you saw him, emerging from the shadow of a bookcase with theatrical grace. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” He chided, smirking. “Who did you think?”

The horror that struck you upon realisation was nothing short of devastating. It was as though every nerve was prickling, every reasonable part of you screaming to flee the danger. The purple coat, the plaid waistcoat, the impossibly dark eyes of the enemy.

“You...” Your voice cut through the quiet.

He laughed. “So surprised?”

On his approach, you tugged the blanket close up to your chest and watched him watch you.

“Did the TARDIS not give me away?” He teased, voice laced with that insufferable tone of amusement. “Or did you think it was your precious Doctor, coming back to rescue you?” 

You were mute, horrified, entranced as he drew yet closer, making you crane your neck uncomfortably to look up at him.

“Although, you were quite beyond consciousness by the time I scooped you up.” He shrugged, suddenly reaching out to grip your wrist. His touch was light, fingers warm against your chilled skin as he lifted your injured arm high, assessing the bandage with an expression of satisfaction. You tugged your arm out of his grasp, curling it against your chest, making him roll his eyes.

“You could at least show some gratitude.” He huffed, pacing. “You humans are always so _impolite_.”

You bristled at the casual insult. “You’re one to talk about politeness.”

The immediacy of your mistake was made clear when he stopped dead. His eyes instantly met yours, wild as a storm, spitting fire. “Excuse me?”

You were aware that you should’ve been scared, but you were too exhausted and overwhelmed to really register the truth of the threat that stood before you now.

“You tried to kill me and my friends. Numerous times.” You recalled with a fatigued venom. “Attempted murder doesn’t strike me as polite.”

His blazing eyes narrowed. “Well, you’re still here, aren’t you?” He stepped forward and crouched down in front of you, as if taunting you; even in this vulnerable position he still had greater power than you’d ever achieve. “Be grateful it was only ‘attempted’.”

The softness of his voice caught you entirely off-guard and you blinked, suddenly faced with your memories of O, as he had been, all too recently.

The Master grinned and you fumbled for a retort, finding one that bit weakly at your tongue. “I’m supposed to thank you for failing to kill me?”

He rolled his eyes, yet leaned in closer, close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath fan your cheeks. _He isn’t O_ , you tried to remind yourself, repeating it like a mantra.

“As I have just saved you from gasping out the last few breaths of your miserable existence on some foul planet,” He paused, resting his chin on his fist; his darkening eyes never leaving yours, “I would suggest that you _watch your tone_.”

Nibbling at your lip, you nodded your head without intending to. His satisfied smirk was accompanied by a whole range of micro-expressions, ones that you watched bloom and fade behind his eyes as he observed your submission. Such a complicated silence.

Hot under his relentless gaze, you felt compelled. “Why?” 

And thus the spell was broken. He stood up with a flourish and a heavy sigh, casting his hands and his gaze heavenward. “Because I think I might just _finish the job_ if you irritate me any more than you already have.”

It was your turn to sigh. “No, why did you save me?”

“For fun.” Was his instant reply. You didn’t know whether you were delirious, or being deliberately obtuse, but his whole tone and manner seemed to contradict his answer. Perhaps he sensed your suspicion, or else he just decided to taunt you further. “But also…”

He pulled closer to you again. His erratic movements were starting to aggravate your headache and you couldn’t help but press the back of your hand to your tired eyes when he leant back over you. All you could focus on was his eyes, darker than the blackness that encroached on the edges of your vision.

“But also-?” You slurred; he seemed amused by your attempts to stay conscious.

The Master smirked down at you, and you felt the warmth of his fingers at your throbbing temple. “You are, how does one put this, quite the loveliest bargaining chip that I have ever seen.”


	3. The Places That We Never Should Have Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a longer update this time! It... took an unexpected turn, I got a little carried away.
> 
> Also, here's the [link to the Spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mPXl2x7hzmEOM2jVaTZji) I made to accompany this fic.  
> It's a little eclectic, you have been warned.

_“You scrub up well, love.”_

_It was his voice, warm as the sunlight that beat down upon the vineyard, turning the whole landscape to gold. His eyes had been flecked with gold too, when he looked at you._

_“Thank you.” You smiled, dipping your head. “So do you.”_

_And he really did, you thought, casting a glance at him. The fit of his suit was immaculate, sculpted to the lean lines of his body, and his crisp white shirt made his complexion glow._

_“Shall we?” He asked, offering you his arm with that lopsided smile that had become so dear to you over the past couple of days. You simply returned his grin and took his arm, happy to enjoy his endearing charms for a little longer._

_Barton’s party was certainly not an event you’d ever thought that you’d find yourself at, but the views were stunning, and the company was mostly good. It had been odd to shuffle yourself into formalwear for the occasion, so used to just running around in whatever was practical or time period-appropriate, but you weren’t adverse to it. The black playsuit was gorgeous, after all, if a little out of your comfort zone._

_You’d gambled, you’d laughed, you’d even had a couple of sips of champagne - stolen from O’s flute, of course. What a way to play pretend. And when O kept stealing furtive glances at you in the way he was, it was hard to know where the playing stopped. This time, when his gaze just caught yours as you stood over the roulette wheel, you didn’t instantly break away._

_There was an infinity in his eyes._

_It swirled and danced, a maddening, glittering darkness that was as captivating as it was terrifying. You felt your heart rate double, electric, such was the intensity of it all. He must’ve noticed it in your breaths, how fast they slipped from between your lips, or else in your motionlessness. How else would he have known to take your hand in his._

_“Don’t look at me like that.” He murmured, his tone in utter conflict with his eyes._

_When you failed to comply, all doe-eyed and dazed, he simply gripped your hand tighter in his own and pulled, leading you out of the party. If you had been a poet, you might’ve dared to say that his enigmatic ambiguity was intoxicating. But you were not. And yet here you were, intoxicated all the same, as he led you out into the sunlight._  
  
\---  
  
This time, when you awoke, the dark blanket was tucked under your chin.  
You were still in the console room, but the pulsing light was a little brighter, and the whole space was less dingy. Gingerly, you sat up and swung your feet off of the chaise-longue, raising a tentative hand to your shoulder. You hissed; the dressing was still in place, but when you turned your head to look, there were spots of red blooming against the white. _Oh, to go back to that dream._

The floor was cold beneath your feet when you stood, and it was only now that you noticed that your boots had been removed. And, of course, so had your shirt. You were left in a tank top, a garish crimson stain running all down one side of it, peeking out from under your dressing. Casting your eyes around the room, still unfocussed from sleep, you spotted your boots leaning up against one of the worn bookcases. Above them, crumpled up on the shelf, was your shirt. Or what was left of it, anyway. 

You crossed the room to it, picking it up the ragged pile of fabric though it was marred by gore and almost unrecognizable. Nearly gagging at the sour, metallic stench of it, you balled it back up upon the shelf. The nausea that seized you had you clutching desperately to the bookcase and willing yourself not to throw up. Not that you had anything other than bile to lose, it must’ve been a good while since you last ate or drank anything, as the black spots that danced in your vision suggested. _How did I end up in such a mess?_

“Such a shame about that shirt, it was a good colour on you.” The Master’s voice made you lift your head, the speed of the motion making the room spin and warp.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, love, as entertaining as it is.” He tilted his head, and the evidence of his amusement did little to settle your stomach. You were _tired_ and you were _angry_. Your dream had hurt more than it had healed.

You glared up at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?” He rolled his eyes at the venom in your voice and paced around the centre console, dipping in and out of your line of vision.

“Like you’re waiting for me to keel over.” You retorted whilst attempting to stand a little straighter.

He peeked around the console, eyebrows arched in a pastiche of innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes you do, you’re watching me like a cat watches a mouse.” Your hands were trembling now, but your legs were stable. Without flinching, you walked back over to the chaise-longue and fixed him with a mirror-image of his own blazing gaze.

He scoffed. “You’re delusional.”

“No, I’m just sick of whatever this is.” You sat down heavily, pulling the corner of the blanket into your lap.

“I hardly think you’re in the position to argue, right now.” The Master dismissed you. “It would be best for you if you just-”

“No, I want-”

“I am giving you a fair warning.”

“And I am ignoring it.”

He stopped dead, turning to face you, leaning imperiously against the console. His eyes turned dark as coal, and their simmering fire sparked anew. “Love, I would advise you not to push me.”

Now this, this chilled your rage for a moment. Solidifying it until it sat like ice above your heart, making your breaths pull shallow. “You don’t get to call me that.” You murmured, unable to look at him.

You could feel his eyes on you. Those dark, dark, impossibly deep eyes. It was as though he was reaching under your skin, into your mind, like you could feel his touch with each beat of your heart, each second beat of his. You could feel him in the flush that crept up your neck, warm with shame, as if the heat of his breath bloomed against your cheeks.

The hush that had descended upon the room broke when the Master approached; you didn’t have to look to know that he was grinning.

“ _Oh_ , so _that’s_ what’s getting you all riled up, hm?” He taunted, voice as low and smooth and soft as you’d ever heard it. “Has someone been reminiscing about the good old days?”

He stopped just in front of you, and you turned your head away from him. “Don’t.”

“I played the Doctor so well that she invited me into her TARDIS.” The Master gloated, while you sat in his shadow. “But then I played you even better, didn’t I?”  
  
“You used me.” The protest was out before you could even think, burning your tongue.

Then his hand was at your chin, fingers caressing your jaw as he tilted your face upwards so that you were forced to meet his eyes. You swallowed, but did not blink.

“What was it that you said to me?” That same smoothness, dangerously low, served with a smirk. “Outside at Barton’s party?”

You tried to shake your head but his soft grasp was deceptively strong. “Stop.”

“Make me, love.” His grin darkened, collapsing. “Make. Me.”

You were caught up in his eyes again, lost, losing. “I- I don’t-”

He huffed a breath from between his parted lips, his thumb just brushing the corner of your mouth. “Call me by my name.” He commanded.

“Master.” You blurted out almost instantly, hating how reverential your voice sounded, how breathy and delicate.

His eyebrow quirked up in surprise as that devilish grin returned. “Good girl.”

And, with that, he left, unceremoniously dropping your chin and stepping back, flicking his coat behind him.  
  
Leaving nothing but confusion. 

Confusion and the haunting hint of cinnamon.


	4. Living Out of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you this fic was going to be a slow-burn, and here's another [fairly reflective](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mPXl2x7hzmEOM2jVaTZji) chapter for you. I promise the pace will pick up soon, after all, you've got to get home to the Doctor somehow ;)
> 
> Please keep commenting, I love to read them all xx
> 
> Warning: mentions of blood and injury

Waking up set your head reeling, you didn’t even remember falling asleep this time. Yet, here you were, sprawled across that damned chaise-longue, again. It was becoming monotonous at this point. Groaning, you sat up and noticed that an armchair had been dragged to the head of the chaise-longue, another richly-upholstered monstrosity. 

_Flash bastard_ , you thought. But what really intrigued you was the bowl set upon the faded seat of it, and the mug steaming merrily next to that. You scooted yourself into a cross-legged position and reached eagerly for the mug with your good arm, finding it filled to the brim with creamy coffee, as revealed by the aroma. Taking a hesitant sip, you sighed in appreciation; it was almost exactly to your taste. Delighted despite yourself, you grabbed the bowl next, relieved to find a spoon balancing precariously against the rim. A hearty stew greeted you, with a slice of bread too. _I feel like a medieval peasant who's been invited to dine with the king_ , you mused giddily.

You were distinctly aware that you were vastly over-excited, but you were also _starving_ , so who could blame you? It was delicious after all, and though your anger still simmered beneath the surface, you found yourself amused at the thought of the Master doing normal, everyday, human things like “making coffee” and “cooking”. _He probably just ordered space-takeout_.  
Nonetheless, you were an appreciative diner. Even your shoulder, which had been throbbing strangely when you awoke, had ceased to ache so intensely.

He strolled in near the end of your meal, when you were busy scraping up the leftover gravy with the crust of the bread, but he didn’t address you. 

Once both the bowl and the mug were empty, and you were satiated, you looked up at him, half-expecting him to be looking at you. He was not. However, when he felt your eyes upon him, he paused his busywork and glanced over at you with an expectant expression. 

“Thank you.” You said, dipping your head, but unable to resist watching his reaction through your lashes. If he was surprised, he hid it well, simply nodding his head with his lips drawn into a thin line. And then nothing. He carried on doing whatever it was he was doing at the console. You sat and watched him, unsure of how to move forward after all that had gone wrong last time the pair of you spoke. Unable to think of anything better to do, you began to stretch out your limbs, muscles still sore from the trauma on Orphan 55. Your shoulder ached when you rolled it, and then sent anarchic flashes of pain shooting down to your wrist, across your chest, making you wince. The sudden strain on it made you dizzy, and adrenaline thrummed in your veins. Although the dressing had already been spotted with red, when you grasped it now your trembling hand came away sticky with blood.

The Master’s head was turned by the sound of you drumming your fingers on the chaise-longue. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the pain. Through the haze you saw his face, and, if you weren’t so feverish, you would’ve almost said he looked _scared_. He was rushing about the room, then at your side in an instant. His harsh grip on your tapping hand stilled it, and the press of his fingers against your racing pulse brought you out of your delirium. 

“What have you done?” He asked, hands already busy tearing away the dressing.

You felt as though you were choking on your breath, face contorted with pain. “I- I was just stretching-”

His sigh was loud, dramatic. Performative irritation. Yet his voice was level and serious, without any trace of the theatrical airs he so often enjoyed. “You’ve torn your stitches.” 

“It- it wasn’t intentional.” You garbled.

He fixed you with a withering glare. “Sit still, shut up, and let me fix them.”

“Yes, sir.” You retorted miserably, and you thought you saw the familiar dark glimmer of amusement alight his eyes. He began to fix the mess that was your shoulder, and you turned your head away at the bite of raw alcohol against your skin. At least the shock of pain had made you somewhat lucid.

“I said _sit still_.” He growled, and you dug your nails into the upholstery beneath you to ground yourself.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, risking a glance towards him.

“To stop your wound from going septic.” He replied. “Or would you rather I just watched you die this time?”

The irritation in his voice failed to give you pause. “What’s stopping you?”

He didn’t immediately reply, choosing instead to focus on stopping the bleeding. The way in which he worked was mesmerizing, a good distraction from the pain, eyes quick with concentration. 

“You wouldn’t understand.” He murmured, words breathed noncommittally through parted lips as he threaded a suture needle. You swallowed. 

“Try me.” Your knuckles were white now, and it took every ounce of your willpower not to move. But you couldn’t control your trembling.

The Master shot you a dangerous glare. “Give me a reason to.”

It was then that you seemed to remember who it was you were dealing with, a moment of sudden clarity as the Master stitched up what you had torn open. This man, _timelord_ , had killed people, he’d nearly killed you and your friends, _he has watched entire galaxies burn_ , the Doctor had told you.

And yet here he was, fixing your wounds, wrapping layer after layer of soft bandages around your shoulder with an expression of neutral focus.

And yet here he was, looking just like O. You pictured him bent over his files in that dusty shack, or drinking tea with the Doctor, or running to catch up with the plane just before it had all gone so wrong. You knew it had all been an act, but it was a good one, good enough to convince you, the fam, MI6, even good enough to convince the Doctor herself.

And you couldn’t help but wonder, if he had convinced you, and her, and everyone, had he convinced himself too? Just for a second?

The man biting off a strip of medical tape with his teeth to secure your bandages did not look like a man who could watch galaxies burn. Perhaps he wasn’t quite like that anymore. Or perhaps you were being naive.

Either way you were grateful.

After all, he had saved your life.


	5. Spitfire - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm trying something a little different in this chapter. I hope you guys appreciate a (relevant) break from our time in the Master's TARDIS, it's full of me geeking out about history haha.
> 
> This one's a bit of a slow burn ;)

_2 months ago_

“Ryan, have you seen my hairpin?”

“I think it's over here, Yaz!”

“Why’s it there?”

“Well, I don’t know, you dropped it!”

It was a day like any other on the TARDIS, filled with chatter and noise and life. The fam were crowded into the TARDIS wardrobe, picking out outfits for their big night out and generally causing chaos. Well, at least the youngest were.

“Oi, you two, can you keep it down a bit?” Grumbled Graham, already dressed up and looking more uncomfortable in his choice of attire by the minute. “I’m trying to have a nice cuppa before we get going.”

The Doctor was nearly ready, looking stylish in one of her habitual suits. “Graham’s right, can you keep it down? Picking a bowtie requires focus.”

The Doctor suddenly gasped and ran out of the room, presumably off to hunt for a specific tie. You rolled your eyes fondly at the lot of them, holding up another sparkling hairpiece from the dressing table you were sat at. “Here’s another one of yours, Yaz.”

“Ah, thank you!” Yaz skipped across to you, clearly enjoying her mastery over her skirt, and you couldn’t help but laugh. She’d spent a good five minutes struggling to walk when she’d first put it on, but then again, so had you in yours.

Ryan groaned, and you and Yaz turned to raise your eyebrows at him. “Why does she get a thank you and I don’t?”

“Because she helped me pick out my dress.” Yaz retorted.

“And I didn’t?”

“The one you suggested was bright lime green.”

The pair then started bickering, it seemed to be how they displayed affection for each other. Their friendship was littered with these little, well-meaning spats, but you were never really a part of them. 

You just sighed and turned to your other companions. “Perhaps it’d be best if you just drank your tea elsewhere, Graham.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right.” He nodded wearily and got up, moving out to join the Doctor in whatever room she’d zipped off to to find a bowtie. You took one last glance at Yaz and Ryan, still bickering, and stepped out to follow him.

\---

_Buckingham Palace - June, 1838_

_This is going to be one of the best nights of my life_ , you thought as you stepped out of the TARDIS and into the glittering hallway. Every surface shone with light, a thousand candles sparkling from every sconce, reflecting off of the finery of a hundred guests. It was a sight unlike any other. After touring Yaz, Ryan and Graham around their choice destinations, it was finally your turn, and, oh, had you picked well. The coronation ball of Queen Victoria herself! The Doctor had had her reservations, vaguely mentioning that last time she’d met the iconic queen, she’d been banished from the British Empire, but she’d still parked the TARDIS with a smile at your request.

And she was still smiling now, that goofy grin that you’d come to find infectious. “Now, remember, no telling anyone anything you shouldn’t, watch your manners, and-”

“When in doubt ask our resident Victorian expert.” Finished Ryan, nudging you with his elbow.

You nudged him back, indignant. “I’m no expert, I just have an appreciation for the time period…”

Yaz cut you off with a short laugh, holding a hand up to her updo. “You spent a good half an hour helping me braid my hair so I’d match that Hayter portrait!”

Graham and Ryan shared a smile, and the Doctor rolled her eyes fondly at you. Your eclectic passion for history was the source of much amusement for the fam, but they were always grateful when your knowledge proved useful.

“And you look lovely.” You insisted, defending your handiwork, before turning to look pointedly at a certain someone’s attire. “But I needn’t have bothered since the Doctor delights in looking so conspicuous.”

She waved you away with one of her inconclusive hand gestures. “You know me, I save the blending in for you lot.” She straightened her bowtie, shook out her sleeves, and whipped her head up like a spaniel spotting a squirrel. “Now, go have fun whilst I take a nose around that buffet.” 

Just like that, she was off, quick as lightning. But with the Doctor, you knew that thunder always followed.

And as expected, she turned on her heel, forcing a disgruntled couple to jump out of the way. Her expression was suddenly serious. “And one last thing, if you see anything suspicious, come and get me, ok fam?”

“Anything suspicious?” Ryan asked. He spoke for you all, and spoke tentatively.

“Or any _one_.” The Doctor’s face remained dark, eyes strangely impassive. “You know what I mean.”

The word “Master” hung unspoken on your tongue. You were still shaken from the events of a few weeks back, and the Master’s uncertain disappearance and uncanny knack for disguises had you on edge. You nodded, trying to displace an unwelcome image of O from your mind.

The Doctor’s grin returned as quickly as it had left, and with it some of the fam’s previous excitement. “Right, I’ll be off then.” She called. “Enjoy!”

“I'm coming with you, Doc.” Graham decided, casting a longing look towards the buffet.

Ryan turned to you and Yaz. “Shall we go and dance?”

“Way ahead of you.” Yaz replied, and the three of you took off towards the dance floor as fast as was socially acceptable.

\---

An hour later, Ryan and Yaz were exhausted. As it turned out, Queen Victoria had already taken a fancy to the Scottish Reel, and the energetic dance had finally sent the pair rushing towards the buffet. You, however, could not resist the pull of the ballroom. You had changed your mind about parties since that fateful day at Barton’s celebration, they had never really appealed to you before all that much. But here, now, swept up in the anonymity of being a time traveller, a visitor in history who would leave no footprint, you were giddy with the thrill of it.

You flitted from partner to partner, talking, laughing, sweeping your skirts. _Who knew how fun it was to flirt without consequence?_ And with every dance you drifted further from the Doctor and the rest of the fam, closer to the Queen herself, charming your way into the upper echelons of attendees without intention. There was a haphazard success to it all, and you were thriving.

Then, at the end of a particularly enthusiastic quadrille, you were spun out of the arms of a stocky, ginger man, and into the arms of another figure. One you hadn’t danced with before. One who had approached you, and swept you into his arms before you could even catch your breath. You looked up to introduce yourself to your mysterious, well-dressed partner, but felt your knees nearly give out when you did. Those impossibly dark eyes met yours, the ones that haunted your daydreams and electrified your nightmares, the ones that you _just couldn’t forget._

The eyes of the Doctor’s arch enemy, the scourge of galaxies, the man with stars burning in his hearts.

“Good evening, sweetheart.” He purred. “May I have this dance?”


	6. Spitfire - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This chapter is twice as long as my previous installments, but I didn't want to split it up. I've got to say, I'm actually quite pleased with how it turned out, even if it did take me a fair few days longer to finish than I expected. Hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Props to anyone who spots the Percy Shelley reference ;)
> 
> Also, in the language of Victorian floriography, milkvetch alledgedly means "your presence softens my pain".

_“Good evening, sweetheart.” He purred. “May I have this dance?”_

“Master!” You cried out, instantly struggling in his hold.

“That’s my name.” He held tight, encircling your wrists and pulling you close to him, sighing. His lips brushed your ear and you failed to repress the shiver that enveloped you. _“Don’t wear it out.”_

You pushed him back, your palms planted firmly against his chest. The satin of his waistcoat slipped under your fingers as he chuckled, which only made you more indignant. You started searching for the Doctor, Yaz, Ryan, Graham, _any of them_ , but you could not spot them in the crowd. 

“You’re causing a scene.” The Master remarked, tutting you as you attempted to work your way out of his grasp. His hands on you were far from ungentle, but they were unyielding. “Now, will you dance with me?”

You tugged yourself back until he held only your hands, spluttering. “But- the Kasaavin- you were _gone_ , she made sure that you were gone!”

“Oh hush, the Doctor knew that her little trap was temporary. She just didn’t realise quite _how_ temporary.” The Master grinned. His eyes turned as dark as night, yet still glimmered with the fire of a thousand candles. “So that means that we can have some _fun_.”

You shook your head. “Why me?”

It took you a moment to realise that he’d manoeuvred you in his arms, a hand in yours, the other resting at your waist. His burning eyes were hypnotic.

“Come on, you’re a smart girl, you know _exactly_ why.” He coaxed, and you hated how the fragment of praise infused your cheeks with heat. He was swaying with you now, the room tilting, as if dancing with you already.

Once again, you shook your head, as if you could displace him. When you spoke your voice was laced with hurt. “Everything I said, when you were O… you betrayed me.”

“I betrayed all of you.” The Master gloated, but for a moment you swore you saw a flash of an unnamable, renegade emotion behind his eyes. As quick as it appeared, it fled. He brought a single finger up to raise your chin. “Why take it so personally, sweetheart?” 

You turned your head aside, refusing the enticement of his touch, but he simply tutted and led you out into the centre of the ballroom. 

“You made for very pretty collateral damage.” He added with a triumphant smirk, before looking up and away from you. You were stunned, silent, unable to do more than bite your tongue and follow him.

Casting charming smiles to either side of him, a gracious nod here, a compliment there, he snagged a place in the circle of couples preparing to dance. You watched him closely, aware of his spellbinding effect on others, and felt your stomach settle slightly. There was something comforting in observing his power, how he made people fall at his feet, it made you feel less weak for having done the exact same. 

And as the orchestra struck up a temperate waltz, you reminded yourself that this was _your_ night. You placed your hand on his shoulder, resumed your previous easy smile, and let yourself be enveloped by the music. Let him be damned if he thought he was going to ruin it.

Still smiling, you tilted your chin up to look at him. “You should know, I have a knife strapped to my thigh.”

“Oh, you do?” The Master grinned, and you were utterly entranced by how his eyes dropped to your skirts and back up to meet your own. _“Kinky.”_

“It’s supposed to be threatening.” You pouted, flushing scarlet.

“The Doctor wouldn’t approve.”

“The Doctor doesn't need to know.” You blurted it out before you could stop yourself. You, always so careful with your words, careful with your enemies, and _here you were_ , dancing with both.

The Master raised his eyebrows, smirking, but said nothing. _For once._ The silence only made you all the more aware of your now-prolonged lapse of judgement. You should be screaming, yelling for the Doctor’s help, pushing this egotistical _bastard_ off of you and running fast in the opposite direction. But you were waltzing with him instead.

And the very worst part was that you did not seem to mind in the slightest. 

You tried to convince yourself that your elevated heart rate was due to panic, that the blush you could feel prickling your skin was due to anger, but you could not deny the magnetic pull that had you submitting to his embrace. The space between the pair of you was charged, electric, and sizzling with possibility. It made you dizzy with something akin to fear.

You swallowed. It was effortless, the way he led you across the floor, the way you followed in perfect time, as if you had danced together before. You were not unaware of the many eyes upon you both, you knew how this must’ve looked to the crowd, but what was the harm in their assumptions?

_Let them think what they will_ , you decided, unable to repress a coy smirk at the very idea of something so salacious. Yet, the more attention the pair of you got, the more likely it was that the Doctor would approach the scene. And see you _waltzing with the enemy_. 

Your sudden unease was stifled by the insistent press of the Master’s hand at your waist.

“You look like you belong here.” He murmured, close to you, breath hot against your ear. 

“Do I?” You leaned into him, instinctually. “Tell me.”

“Every tiara I have seen tonight would look much better upon your head.” His voice was low and smooth and rich as honey. You’d long since given into it.

But you hadn’t given into _him_. “That is a matter of opinion, not fact.”

“You would thrive at court.” He spun you, your back to his chest, fingers splayed across your bodice. The throne was before you now, the monarch herself speaking to some dignitary beside it. His tone was charged with fervency “Can you not picture yourself sitting there?”

“I had not taken you for a flatterer.” You were genuine in your observation, for the intensity in his words caressed the skin of your exposed neck in a way you did not expect.

“I’m not.” The Master replied sharply. “Look around, _nothing wilts faster than laurels that have been rested upon_.” 

The phrase tugged at your memory, but he had flustered you beyond recognition of it. The music flared and you took the opportunity to spin yourself out of his arms, only to have him pull you back, reeling you in like a spider.

But now, you were facing him again. “What are you suggesting?”

“Merely that your obvious ambition and wit could be put to good use.” The Master remarked, that same fervent intensity burning in his eyes. “I’ve watched you charm your way into Queen Victoria’s inner circle in less than two hours. You don’t strike me as passive.” 

You were close to trembling in his arms, but your voice was steady. “You go too far.”

“Oh, darling.” He purred, breath fanning your cheeks. _“You don’t go far enough.”_

When the dance ended, the music reaching a crescendo and then receding, you hardly noticed. Your head was reeling, and you couldn’t ignore the dizziness that you knew wasn’t a consequence of the dancing. As you tried to shake yourself from your stupor, the Master reached up, slipped his fingers into your hair, and gently tugged a flower from your braid. A single lilac milkvetch. He barely glanced at it, though his eyes were soft when he did, before tucking it away in his chest pocket.

Distantly, you thought you heard someone call your name, and when you cast your eyes away from the Master you could see the Doctor and the fam moving through the crowd.

“Time’s up.” The Master murmured. Then suddenly, his gentle touch stiffened, his grip harsh on your wrist as he dragged you from the dancefloor. You tried to tug yourself out of his hold for the upteenth time that night, but you once again underestimated his strength.

“I need to leave.” He said, as if you didn’t know, as if trying to remind himself.

You looked down at where he still held your wrist, his touch soft once more, and swallowed. “So do I, they’re looking for me.”

“And yet you didn’t cry out?” The Master queried, and the heat of his searching gaze seared your own. “You didn’t call their attention.”

“No, I didn’t.” You confirmed, half a question warping the statement.

Your reply, your _complete unquestioning obedience_ made him grin, and that searching, penetrating gaze simply slipped further under your skin. He was close to you again, his chest a hair’s breadth from yours, chin lifted so that you had to raise your own.

“What would the Doctor say if you told her that her best enemy was right under your nose and you let him get away?” He asked with a voice alight with amusement and a blatant disbelief in his own good fortune.

“She’d understand.” You replied calmly. It was something you were sure of, but his answering raised eyebrow made doubt bloom in the heart of your certainty.

“Would she?” The Master said, and suddenly, for a split second, you didn’t know anymore.

You shook your head and moved backwards until you felt the velvet of the curtains behind you, away from his hypnotism. “You’re a hard man to catch.”

“Ah, sweetheart.” He pursued you, trapping you. “Not when I _want_ to get caught.”

“And why would you want to get caught?” Your voice was hardly above a whisper.

His eyes dipped from yours, then back. You were acutely aware of the heat of his body, the smirk curling his lips, the blazing, tenacious fire in his gaze. When he spoke, the timbre of his words bled into you like a drumbeat. 

“Sometimes the thrill of the chase is nothing compared to the satisfaction of knowing _who’s chasing you._ ”

And then, like a flash, he was gone. You closed your eyes for less than a minute, overwhelmed by it all, but when you opened them again, you were alone. _As if he’d never been there at all._

You turned on the spot, eyes searching for a tall, dark figure but instead finding the fam approaching you, all smiling with simple relief.

“There you are!” The Doctor announced when you walked towards them, grateful for the familiar comfort of their presence.

Yaz had her hands on her hips, her once-perfect hair a little out of place, but she was still grinning. “Where have you been?” 

“Dancing all this time?” Ryan asked, breaking the pastry he was holding into clumsy halves and handing the bigger one to Graham, who nodded at you. You shrugged a greeting.

“What’s the matter?” Yaz’s smile dropped. You tried to avoid the Doctor’s gaze, though you could feel her eyes on you.

You feigned a yawn. “Oh, nothing. I’m just… tired.”

The Doctor seemed satisfied by the weak smile you gifted her, her piercing gaze softening into sympathy. 

“Let’s head back to the TARDIS then, it’s been a long night.” She conceded, and you nodded gratefully.

She was right, it had been a long night. _Perhaps the longest night of my life_ , you thought as you followed your friends towards home and sleep and safety. The bright lights and vivid colours seemed somewhat less dazzling now, and all you wanted was to get out of your corset, get into bed, and to let your dreams untangle the web of guilt that the Master had spun.

Your hand reached up to your updo, fingers sweeping across your braid, until you reached the space left by the missing flower. It’s absence stung as sweetly as the man who had created it, and you half-wondered if one day he would come to take more flowers from you. A bouquet of stolen moments that would never wilt.

He was right, the thrill of the chase really was nothing compared to the satisfaction of knowing _who’s chasing you_.


	7. No Matter How I Live With It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I’m a film student? I seem to write some passages more like a screenplay than prose haha :) This is a pretty dialogue-heavy chapter, but I felt as though the MC and the Master needed to have this conversation. 
> 
> Also, I think it goes without saying that MC/Master have a very unhealthy dynamic right now. Just a quick disclaimer to say that I do NOT condone the Master’s actions in this fic.

“I’ve sent your shirt to the Doctor.”

It was the first time the Master had spoken to you since he’d fixed your stitches, and his voice was as cold as you’d ever heard it. The unpleasant quality of it shook you from the peace of your mid-afternoon reverie with a cruel insistence. You were on that damned chaise longue, resting idly with one of his books as per habit, and he was slumped over the console, muttering. He seemed… _agitated_. It felt as if he might snap at a moment's notice, and even the reckless aspect of your nature was sensible enough of its defects to mellow when faced with such a volatile threat.

“Didn’t you hear me?” The Master’s sharp tone broke through your passivity, making you snap your head up. His eyes were tumultuous, his hands shaking just the barest amount, and his teeth were pressed firmly into his lower lip. _Here we go_ , you thought, the rising tension coiling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach.

“You’ve sent my shirt to the Doctor.” You repeated in a blank monotone, as inoffensive and unprovoking as your silence had tried to be.

“So you _were_ listening. A miracle.” He turned to you, leaning against the console now, his face a mask of cold, barely-restrained rage. “Aren’t you going to ask why? Or is your dull human brain vacant of curiosity today?”

This made you sit up and close your book, placing it beside you as you shot him a glare. 

“I’d rather you didn’t speak to me like that.” You snapped.

“And _I’d_ rather you return to the Doctor in one piece.” His retort was instant and biting. “Which is looking increasingly unlikely.”

 _And ruin all his hard work?_ You thought. _He wouldn't._

But an uneasy doubt flooded your mind when he sent you a particularly withering glare.

_He would._

You swallowed, dipped your head, and sighed. “Fine, why have you sent my shirt to the Doctor?”

Only now did the Master smile, but this time the amusement in his expression was tainted with steely malice. When he spoke, his words seemed rapid and self-satisfied. “She’ll receive her companion’s blood-soaked, shredded shirt and she won’t be able to repress the guilt of abandoning you, and so she’ll acquiesce to my desires.”

“And what are your _desires?_ ”

“Attention. _Her_ attention.” His tone was firm, adamant. “I have something important to tell her.”

“That you are presumably not going to tell me.”

“Why do you think you deserve to know?” He asked with an utterly humourless chuckle.

You narrowed your eyes. “Because I’m her companion, and her friend.”

“But you don’t know her.” The Master insisted. “You’ll never know her like I do.”

“I trust her.” You replied with a shrug, which only seemed to inflame him. He pushed himself off of the console and strode towards you with alarming speed, looming over you with his hands on his hips, pushing back his jacket. You collected your strength like dust and did not flinch.

“Then you’re a fool.” He snarled, eyes burning into yours.

You shifted uneasily under the intensity of his gaze but didn’t dare to look away. Even as your breathing grew shallower and you felt a familiar twinge of pain in your now-tense shoulder, you could not _make_ yourself turn your head. If anything, your obstinate stubbornness seemed to partly calm his frenzy.

“She’s told us what she thought we needed to know.” The words slipped into the space between you like an offering.

“You really believe that?” The Master prompted, but where his voice had previously held contempt and scorn, it was now soft, incredulous, and dangerously close to pitying. _Mercurial_. “And the others, they believe it too?”

You nodded. Just once.

“We’re her companions and we trust her because she has given us reason to.” The admission was honest enough, but the idea of trust tilted queasily in your mind. Had you betrayed her trust? By keeping your last encounter with the Master secret? By _‘acquiescing with his desires’_ now? Before you could stop yourself, your gaze slid guiltily away from his.

But his hand was at your chin, _how you hated when he did that_ , and his fingers were forcing your head up, absent of any tenderness. The sudden bitterness and volume in his voice was just as jarring. “Has she ever mentioned Clara? Bill? Martha Jones?”

You had no time to answer before he spoke again, his words growled out through gritted teeth so close to you that you could feel the heat of each exhalation against your cheeks. “Has she ever told you about Harold Saxon and the year the world _burned?_ ”

“I- she doesn’t need-”

And then the Master’s other hand was at your throat. He wasn’t gripping tightly enough to choke you, but the threat had your own hands scrabbling at his.

“HAS SHE?” He bellowed, and the force in his voice made tears prick at the corners of your wide eyes. _“Answer me.”_

All you could see was those dark, dark eyes, burning like a thousand suns, burning _you_.

“No!” You cried, and fell entirely limp in his arms, shaking with silent sobs. “Master, _please._ ”

And then, the unexpected.

The instant that the plea left your lips, the Master released his grip on your throat, sliding his hand behind you to rest across your back. Gentle as a lover, he freed you entirely from his grasp, touch almost-but-not-quite lingering at the nape of your neck. You slumped against the familiar upholstery, utterly exhausted once more.

He sighed, a weary, sad sigh deep enough to drown in, and his dark eyes shimmered with turmoil. 

“There is so much you don’t know.” He murmured. 

Despite all, despite _everything_ , you looked up at him with your red-rimmed eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. “I can learn.”


	8. A Full Tank Away From Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Another update so soon? _And_ it's nearly 2000 words?  
> Yes, yes it is.
> 
> Last chapter was fairly short, and I have been so inspired this week, so here you go! 
> 
> As always, I just wanted to say that I love reading your comments, you guys really make my day <3  
> Enjoy ;)

He’d dismissed you from the console room after the incident. 

When his rage had subsided, he directed you towards the shower and the TARDIS wardrobe with a brief instruction to _‘be careful with those stitches’_ and then left, disappearing down an unfamiliar corridor. 

As soon as you locked the bathroom door, you released a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. It had been days since you had felt entirely human, and you were greedy for peace and privacy. The bathroom he had directed you too, one of many, you assumed, was ostentatiously large. This wasn’t one you’d been in before. There was a huge shower, wide enough for two people, and the sink and tiles were cut from what looked like marble. 

_Oh wow, even the_ toilet _is nice_ , you mused, raising your eyebrows.

The real centrepiece of the room, however, was an imposing claw-footed bathtub, stealing most of the space at the end of the room. The wall next to it was panelled, depicting a live image of some great, sprawling garden in lieu of a real view out into the time vortex. A pile of fluffy towels stood in front of the hulking tub, and as you moved closer to investigate the screen, you nearly tripped over them. 

How bizarre it felt, to be in _the Master’s bathroom_ ; it was so weirdly intimate. Simultaneously mundane and exceptional in its domestic grandeur. It suddenly became harder to see him as an egomaniacal god of destruction when you could also picture him having utterly _extravagant_ baths. 

_Oh no, do_ not _picture him in the bath. Why am I picturing him in the bath?_

The very image of hedonistic indulgence.

You shook your head, stripped, and got into the shower without wasting anymore time on what could be considered a deadly train of thought. The hot water on your skin felt sublime, and the days of pain and hurt and stress you’d experienced slipped from your tense shoulders and down the plug hole. It was so good that when you got out, you immediately stepped over to the tub, turned on the taps and drew yourself a bath. You felt as though you deserved it after what the Master had put you through earlier.

When you’d settled yourself in the water, sinking in up to your neck, you reached out for the screen beside you. As soon as your fingertips made contact with the panels the image changed, and you withdrew your hand with a start before beginning to tap through the catalogue of views. You kept going with a giddy sort of curiosity until you found one that sobered you, making your fingers freeze in the cool air. Before you, the ground was reddish-gold and dusty, faintly glittering, and the sky was a rich, burning orange that glowed with the light of a thousand stars. There was movement to the landscape, a faint breeze that stirred the silvery leaves of the few trees clustered at the edges, making their branches flex towards the mountains. Your eyes followed them. What you saw made you gasp, eyes open wide in wonder at the city that stood before you. It’s towers could’ve toppled the sky, spires nearly piercing the gleaming dome that surrounded it. A capital cradled in glass. Your heart ached with a foreign yearning and you couldn’t repress the shudder than shook you from your reverie when your fingers longingly reached out for it, only to have the image change. For many minutes, you tried to find the same view again, but to no avail.

That burning orange sky was seared into your memory.

\---

When you’d finally pulled yourself out of the bath and located some clean clothes (the TARDIS wardrobe seemed to have every cut and colour imaginable), you retreated to the library. It was where you had spent most of your time over the past few days when you hadn’t been asleep or in the console room.

You picked out another book, settled yourself in an armchair near the fireplace with its curiously blue flames, and began to read. You’d barely gotten past the title page when the Master came in, quiet as a shadow. He sat across from you in the parallel armchair, and waited for you to put down your book.

“You look less of a mess.” He said. The statement was his version of a peace offering, you could recognise that at least, and you were willing to take it.

“Thank you.” You accepted. All of the previous tension of the day had dissipated, the man before you would not hurt you again, not here, not now. You _knew_.

“I’m dropping you off tomorrow.” His voice was low, steady, with the barest inflection of warmth. “Then you can irritate the Doctor instead.”

This made you sit up straighter, book tumbling from your lap. 

“She’s coming to get me?” You hated how you sounded so like a child.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Well, no need to sound so ungrateful.” The Master’s gaze turned cold, but his voice was still laced with amusement. “I could always just kill you.”

You raised your hands, more concerned about what he must’ve thought of your reaction than the threat to your life. “No, no, I’m grateful, really I am.”

He must’ve read something in your tone, _he was good at that_ , and he raised his eyebrows and leaned forward with theatrical grace. “Go on.” 

If he thought he had seen you at your most vulnerable when you were injured and bleeding out on the dust of Orphan 55, it was nothing compared to how utterly exposed you were right now. And he found it _fascinating_.

“It’s just that I wasn’t sure if she was going to come back for me.” You admitted, and he was surprised at your blunt honesty and immediacy. Pleasantly surprised.

“She’s the Doctor, she always collects her pets.” His tone was dismissive, but you could see the glittering turmoil behind his eyes.

“Does she?” You asked with the sad smile of someone in the midst of growing up, someone learning for the first time in their life that the world can be cruel and that the people they love can disappoint them. “Those names you mentioned earlier, she’s said them but never discussed who they were, what they did, or what she did to them. They’re dead, aren’t they?”

“Some of them.”

“Did you...?”

“No. Not them.” He shook his head, before his signature smirk tugged his lips for a brief second. “Not always for lack of trying, though. As you well know.”

You tried to return the smirk as a smile, but it was a weak, frail thing. A poor imitation. 

“I told her to leave, back on Orphan 55; I was trying to save her and the others.”

He just looked at you, and you felt compelled to fill the silence. “It was my _choice_. I didn’t think about what would happen if I actually survived.” You paused and took a breath. “And, clearly, neither did she.”

You could feel the Master’s eyes on you still, a familiar and not-altogether-unwelcome sensation. It seemed as though he was actually _listening_ to you, and not just to satisfy his need for amusement.

“And now she’s coming back for me.” Your words were caught in a complicated sigh.

“Yes.” He murmured. “You’ll see her tomorrow.”

You managed a smile, a true one, this time. “Please try not to kill her and the fam.”

“She really calls them ‘the fam’?” His tone was incredulous in that lofty, self-important manner that he had. You pretended not to notice how he had marked ‘them’ as Other, as separate from you.

“I think it’s sweet.”

“You would.”

\---

The pair of you had settled in to read, something you’d done in the odd comfort of each other’s presence multiple times over the last few days. The blue-gold fire crackled, casting coloured shadows across the Master’s face like stained-glass, and you found yourself observing him. Dark hair brushing his forehead, his fingers lifted, poised, to flick it out of his eyes, the tilt of his chin, the quirk of a lip when a line amused him. It was strange to see him so peaceful, but not disagreeable. As you trailed your gaze over his features, his posture, his hands on the book, you couldn’t decide if his foreign tranquility made him look more or less like a man. And the longer you looked, you found that you also couldn’t decide if it _mattered_ , as long as he looked like himself.

“Are you going to sit and stare at me all night?”

His voice roused you from your reverie, light, full of mischief. You spluttered.

“That book must be boring you.” He teased, intense dark eyes alight with humour and lifted to fix on yours. “Or else you’ve just got better taste than I initially thought.”

“I- the book-” You were _pathetic_ , and the flush creeping up across your cheeks only added to your ridicule. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged with a satisfied smirk, nonchalantly smug. “So what was it that you wanted to ask me?”

It took a moment to steady yourself under his watchful gaze, unsurprised at his correct assumption. He often seemed to know your actions before they happened. 

“When I was in the bath earlier-” 

“Well, I like where this is going.” The Master cut you off with a grin and a pointed look. And you were flustered _instantly_ , all over again, indignant and desperate to ignore the heat that had sparked somewhere within you.

You huffed a performative sigh, and cast a glance at the fire purely to avoid his eyes. “When I was in the bath, I was going through all the images on that panel-thing, and I found one that-” You spoke with your hands too, but even they couldn’t help you to express the complexity of what you’d felt when you’d seen that landscape. They just fluttered about uselessly, grasping at words that didn’t exist to you yet. “I don’t know how to explain it-”

“Describe it to me.” He commanded in a low voice, and when you looked up, he was leaning forward, eyes blazing, engaged.

“The sky was like molten amber.” 

“Poetic. Keep going.”

You nodded, now unable to tear your eyes from his, the reflections from the fire in those dark irises was incandescent. _Like that sky_.

“And there were these trees, with silver leaves, and red mountains, and the _sky_ , filled with light like it was _burning_.” You were enraptured by your own words. “And there was a city! All encased in glass and shining. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

There was a moment of heavy silence, punctuated only by the sound of coals shifting in the fireplace, before the Master spoke again. “And you never will again.”

You knew his next words before he said them. 

“That was Gallifrey.” He sounded so _tired_ ; it was like all the hate and rage and pain that fuelled him had slipped away. 

“Gallifrey.” You repeated softly, tasting the word. “The Doctor’s home.”

“Mine too, once.” He murmured, burning eyes suddenly wide and round and impossibly sad. “She didn’t even describe it to you? What life was like there?”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, volume and pitch matched exactly to his. “No. She didn’t.” 

He tilted his head, and you surrendered yourself to those dark eyes. _As if you had the choice not to_.

“Then let me.” He said, and you did.


	9. Lead Us Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's one of my longer updates lads, so prepare for some more lengthy conversations, brooding silences, and unresolved tension ;))
> 
> As ever, thank you all for your support <3

“-and Arcadia! The second city, yet it could rival any capital in the known universe. I caused some chaos there back in the day.” The Master enthused, his hair flopping across his forehead, his hands gesticulating wildly.

“You’ve said that about every location you’ve mentioned.” You grinned, it wasn’t as though you minded his repetitiveness. In fact, this was a new aspect of his passionate side for you to experience, one that you had never seen before. It was so far detached from the madman who’d tried to kill you and your friends that you found the memory shifting and sliding, hard to grasp.

The Master didn’t seem to notice your mildly amused gaze, or if he did, he relished in it. “That’s because it’s true, after all, I have just burned that place to the ground.”

Now this caught you, smile upending itself. “But-”

“Anyway, I’ve already told you about the Academy, and my family estate with the red grass-” 

He wouldn’t slow for your concern, _he never would_ , and he knew just how to make you forget it. Your curiosity was insatiable, and he had so much to give. Absently, you wondered how long it had been since anyone just sat and _listened_ to him. 

“Oh! And the children used to make crowns from the silver leaves when they fell, a sort of holiday tradition.” The Master continued with eyes wide and bright. _Like a child himself._

The image earned a smile. “Your first crown.”

“Of _so_ many.” He retorted with the most illicit smirk, and you instantly wished you hadn’t interrupted. All that pure energy, that _distraction_ from whatever was going on inside his head as he talked about his home, was gone. Ruined by your reminder of what he’d come to stand for. You were left with his familiar roguish charm, but the innocent excitement was long gone. _You already missed it._

“Would you- can I hear more?” You asked, with some lame hope of returning to his easy enthusiasm. There was something about how he’d spoken just moments before, a sweetness to it that you’d have never believed could exist without having seen it. But his nostalgic smile had turned into a habitual smirk, one well-worn, and well-suited.

“If you ask nicely.” He teased, eyebrows raised.

“Master.” You added. It was _instantaneous_ now, and the immediacy of your compliance set something akin to guilt turning in your mind. _The Doctor would be so disappointed._

The Master’s smirk widened, darkened. You felt utterly exposed, as you so often did with him, as if he could reach into your head and read you your own thoughts like a conscience.

“I’m feeling suddenly generous.” He decided in a low, smooth, indulgent voice. 

You perked your head up and he chuckled at the simple power he so clearly held over you. “A story for a story. I’ll tell you three things about myself and you have to find the lie.” 

You tried to read his eyes, his words, for the danger that might lurk there, but it was easy to be blind when you looked too close.

“If you get it right, you can ask me anything you want and I will answer truthfully. If you get it wrong, you have to tell me your story.” In an even and reasonable tone, the Master offered up the game. 

It was almost as if you had a chance of winning. 

Your skepticism was obvious. “What do you want with my story?”

His only answer to your question was a twitch of his lip.

“Do you accept?” He pressed. You pretended to consider your decision, wondering if he could tell that it was simply performative.

“If you agree to tell me the truth.” You countered, and saw his eyes flash, victorious.

“I agree.”

“Then I accept.”

Although you were well aware that by accepting, you’d probably lost, the thrill of the Master’s honesty felt like a triumph. You watched as he stood up, rolling his shoulders with a languid elegance as he walked over to the fireplace. It was hard to deny the simple beauty of the flames dancing in his eyes, reflected as if they belonged there. You couldn’t stop yourself from picturing him before the raging inferno of Gallifrey, eyes alight with the blaze of that orange sky. With an uncomfortable jolt, you realised that the image didn’t horrify you half as much as it should’ve.

The Master was still and silent for a moment more, evidently aware of your eyes upon him judging by the smug grin he wore. Then, he turned to you, and raised his eyebrows. He was _challenging_ you.

“The Doctor and I were enemies at the Academy.” He said, voice neutral. You were careful to guard your expression.

He took a couple of purposeful steps closer to you. “I was the Prime Minister of the UK.” 

The look in your eyes as you sat, gazing up at him, could only be described as stubbornly benign. You’d taken his challenge, and raised him one of your own. It was easy to deduce that he loved to get a reaction out of you, from all of your interactions, and thus you could exploit his hunger for your attention. _By pretending that you didn’t hunger for his._

He knew this, of course, and his grin widened in anticipation of victory. 

“I had a human wife.”

When he spoke, his voice was nonchalant, words drawn out and on display to you, for you. You didn’t blink.

“The last one. I’m sure of it.” The assertion slipped from your lips before you could check it. 

He seemed _delighted_. “You are, sweetheart?”

“Yes, of course.” You nodded. There was no way you were backing down now, not with him so close and looking at you like _that._

“I’m so pleased to tell you that you are _entirely_ wrong.” He murmured with a huskiness that had your eyes widening in surprise, before he stepped back again. _Another point goes to him_. “In fact, the Doctor and I were best friends at the Academy.”

You laughed aloud, mirthlessly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, really, our friendship was-”

“Shh, not that, I knew the pair of you were close at some point.” You waved your hands at him until he shut up, incredulous and indignant. You ignored his stony glare. “You had a _wife?_ ”

“Now, why is that so hard to believe?” The Master asked, sighing and sulky. 

You just stared at him. “A _human_ wife?” 

“Yes.”

“By choice?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” You uttered, at loss. How were you supposed to process that?

He seemed irrationally irritated by your sudden muteness, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes.

“Of _all the things_ you’ve seen me do, heard me say, _that’s_ the one you choose to be surprised by?” The exasperation in his voice was almost amusing.

It was impossible to repress your disbelief. “I just- I can’t- _marriage?_ You?”

Well, now he really was sulking. “If you find me that _unappealing-_ ”

“No no, that’s not at all what I meant-” You countered, before flushing an alarming shade of pink and snapping your lips shut. _That came out a bit quick._

The air was suddenly thick with tension as an oppressive hush enveloped the room. You hardly dared to meet his eye, but when you did, you found them dark as night. It was, once more, impossible to look away. You were helpless.

“Oh?” The Master prompted, voice sweet and warm as honey. 

Your blush deepened. “I just- you chose to- _married?_ ”

It was a weak attempt at recovery, but he indulged you all the same. It was _so much fun_ to see you flustered, after all.

He made to walk back to the fireplace, but then turned sharply on his heel and sat on the footstool across from your armchair. You wondered why he didn’t just sit in his own, but then again, questioning any aspect of the Master’s behaviour was usually futile.

“If the Doctor can have companions, why can’t I?” He mused, directing his query someplace other than at you. It was like he had simply thought aloud, and you’d been privileged enough, _or unlucky enough_ , to overhear.

“There’s a _massive_ difference between _companion_ and _wife_.” You scoffed, but quickly sobered when you noticed that his expression was devoid of humour.

_“There doesn’t have to be.”_ He declared, and suddenly his full attention was back on you, eyes dark and hot and tumultuous. You swallowed, and he watched the subtle movement of your throat with an interest you dared not address. As quickly as the intensity had arisen, it dipped again, and his playful grin returned. 

“Ask the Doctor.” He continued as if he’d never slowed. “The whole living together, travelling together, saving people or razing cities together thing can be quite intimate when it's just the pair of you.”

He seemed to let his eyes linger on you for just a moment more, before he shook himself, stretching out his legs and shrugging off his jacket. It was easy to watch him, his restlessness was so human in its expression, and without hesitation your gaze trailed over his forearms as he pushed his sleeves up to his elbows. It struck you that you couldn’t remember having ever seen him without a jacket or other outerwear on before. He looked so _normal_. Domestic.

“What was she like?” You asked on impulse.

He flung his jacket over the arm of your chair. “That was a long time ago.”

Since he hadn’t instantly thrown you out into the vortex for your impertinence, you decided to push your luck. “Was she clever?”

“Hardly.” The disgust in his snort made you wrinkle your nose.

“Pretty?”

“Yes.”

“Kind?”

“Irrelevant.” He feigned a yawn and fiddled with his cuff. A new line of inquiry pushed its way to the forefront of your mind, and although you tried to ignore it, you soon found that you didn’t want to.

“Did you love her?” You asked softly, offering the question up into the quiet between you.

His fingers froze on his sleeve. “You should leave it there.”

“Just one more word then-”

_“(Y/N).”_ He breathed a warning and you blinked. Your name sounded so different from his lips; it left you breathless. 

You dipped your head, _as you’d learnt to_ , and submitted. “Please, Master.” 

“Human.” He blurted, tone saturated with a potent and bitter regret. “She was so, _so_ human.” 

When you finally lifted your chin, you did not look away. And neither did he. His doe eyes were filled with pain, cold and blunt as a dull blade, but still deadly. It was like plunging into freezing water, every movement seized, every breath a gasp.

“And it killed us both, in the end.”

After he spoke, the Master pressed his lips together and you knew he would say no more on the matter. You didn’t need him to, you’d heard enough. His words were already echoing in your mind. _She was so, so human_. You almost wished he hadn’t told you.

It took him less than five minutes to return to his usual self, fingers drumming against his leg, a delicious smirk curling his lips. He clapped his hands together with practised grace and addressed you eagerly. “Now, I believe you owe me your story.”

You hadn’t recovered as quickly as he had, his previous words still playing on your mind, but you tried your best to mirror his ease. “Where would you like me to start?”

“The very beginning.” He demanded. “Leave nothing out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I wonder just how _human_ MC is feeling after _that_?
> 
> She'll be home with the Doctor soon enough, but that, of course, doesn't mean everything is going to go back to as it was. MC is in for a somewhat rough reminder of reality.
> 
> Love you all! Stay safe <3


	10. Pity Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I'm sorry this is later than expected, but I've had to get used to online uni llfe this week and it's been a bit mad. 
> 
> I'd call this chapter the calm before the storm, so enjoy it whilst you can ;))

It took you several hours to tell the Master everything he so wanted to hear. Every important event of your life, everything that had gotten you to where you were today, and everything that had hindered you too. It was cathartic, and entertaining, you found yourself spinning your story with a smile on your face. The Master was an engaged audience, and you resigned yourself to his questions and observations gratefully. You told him the truth, and he took it all in.

By the time you had finished, you were battling to speak through yawns, and it was hard to keep your head from drooping.

“Alright, that’s enough.” The Master said in a low, warm voice, the exact tone of which you’d remember in the days to come. “I always forget how much you humans need sleep.”

You pouted, he had finally let his guard down, and now he wanted you to leave? “But-”

_“Go. To. Bed.”_ He cut you off sternly, but the gruffness in his voice didn’t tarnish his honeyed eyes. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“I have?” You mumbled.

He sighed and stood up, stretching, facing the dimming fire. “Tomorrow I pass you back over to the Doctor.”

You stood, shaking off your drowsiness just a little. Another yawn made you pause as you glanced at him, silhouetted against the flames. “Oh, I’d forgotten.”

The Master turned around. “You’d.... Forgotten?”

He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions too complex to interpret at such a late hour. It didn’t stop you from sharing his gaze and wondering just how easily he could read you.

You cocked your head to one side. “Mmm, it’s an easy thing to forget.”

“Is it, now?” He seemed genuinely baffled, more lost than amused.

“Uh huh.” You were just too tired. 

Had it been another hour, another day, you might’ve gone into some detail as to your reasoning, but it was late, and you were exhausted. You felt a brief but poignant tug at your chest as you made to leave, wondering if you’d ever see the Master in this context again. When your eyes met his once more, they were soft and round and filled with an approximation of warmth. His and yours both. He seemed to be wearing your expression on his face.

“Right then.” He murmured, that familiar stiffness reclaiming his posture until he was distant and cool once more. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

It was with a hopelessly complicated glance that you paused in the doorway, casting it over your shoulder like a parting gift. “Goodnight, Master.”

In the half-light of the corridor, it was impossible to tell if he was smiling.

\---

The atmosphere when you’d stepped into the console room was sullen. You’d still been drowsy from sleep, but you shook yourself awake upon spotting the Master. His movements were subdued, his glances furtive, his eyes dimmed. You’d grabbed breakfast on the way, from what you believed to be the messiest kitchen in existence, and you clutched your mug of tea close to your chest as if to ward off some of the room’s oppressive coldness. You were just wondering how the Master took his tea, _if he in fact took it at all_ , when you felt his eyes on you.

“Come here.” He said, and his tone invited no debate. 

You did as you were told.

When you were within arm’s length of him, the Master cast a glance over you, as if assessing what the Doctor would see when she came to get you. Apparently satisfied, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a thin, flat blade.

“You mentioned last night that you lost your knife on Orphan 55.” He recalled, flicking his hair off of his forehead.

You cocked your head. “I- I did.”

With an unnecessary flourish, he turned the knife in his hand and presented the handle to you, golden blade resting against his skin. It looked expensive, antique gold with whorls of rich engraving for grip. And it was _old_. Older than you thought you could possibly imagine.

“Take it.” The Master insisted, pressing the handle towards you. “It's yours.”

Helplessly, you glanced down at the mug in your hands, wondering where to put it. His eye roll was nigh on _audible_ as he quickly lifted the mug away from you with one hand, replacing it with the handle of the gorgeous knife with the other.

“Thank you.” You replied in a shaky voice as you took it, marvelling at the warmth of the metal left behind by his fingers; your eyes met his, filled with uncertainty. “The Doctor... won’t approve.”

He simply smirked, tilting your own mug at you. “The Doctor doesn’t need to know.” 

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face as you narrowed your eyes at him, wondering if the reference had been intentional. _The ball seemed so long ago._

Just as he stepped away to programme the console, he looked back at you over his shoulder with a grin. “Be careful strapping this one to your thigh, sweetheart, it's sharp.”

He winked at you and you tried your damnedest to repress your reaction. “I’ll bear that in mind.”

“You’d do well to.” He chuckled darkly, and took a sip from your tea, raising his eyebrows. “Now, it’s time I dropped you off.”

You watched as he rushed about, pressing buttons, pulling levers, captivated by his delight as ever. _I can see why the Doctor liked him_ , you thought as he flew about the console with practised grace, _though I’d be mad if the Doctor ever stole my tea_. It was with a comfortable sort of fondness that you found yourself leaning against the console room railings and observing his work. But an uneasy feeling quickly took root in your stomach, pressing up your throat, tendrils squeezing your injured arm tight. He was a _monster_ , the Doctor had told you; he was the scourge of galaxies, and you had somehow let yourself get all cushy and cosy in his presence. _What did that make you?_

There was no way to hide from the fact that you enjoyed the company of a homicidal egomaniac. That he had saved your life, that his conversation engaged you, that his dark eyes always burned so spectacularly into yours, _that you…_

No, _some things are best left unsaid_ , unthought.

It was easy to clear your throat, fix a smile, and glance across at him. “Where to, Master?”

He barely lifted his head, consumed by his console. “Lyme Regis.”

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but that definitely wasn’t it.

“Lyme… Regis?” You repeated, blinking owlishly.

“Dorset.” He replied with a nod. _As if that explained things. ___

__You just sighed, a tired half-smile quirking your lips. “Of course.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC and the Master are parting ways soon, let's just hope that it goes smoothly, _right?_
> 
> ~~Shit might just hit the fan.~~
> 
> As always, stay safe and stay healthy guys! <3


	11. Revolt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you're all staying safe and healthy during all this, please make sure to look after yourselves, stay hydrated and all that. Your comments and support really brighten my day at the minute <3
> 
> Anyways, I've actually cut this chapter down (a whole chunk of it has been moved to chapter 12) because it is a healthy 2200 words and _it was getting a little out of hand._ This story seems to run away with me sometimes ;)
> 
> ~~Prepare yourselves~~ and enjoy!

“We’re here.”

It was the first thing that the Master had said in a good few minutes. He’d been preoccupied with flying his TARDIS, even though he’d bragged to you a few days ago that he’d be able to do it blindfolded and with one hand tied behind his back. _Wherever you had landed must’ve taken him a_ lot _of concentration_ , you mused, adding in an eyeroll that you hoped he didn’t see.

“And where is ‘here’?” You finally asked, stretching your legs in front of you, feeling the knife shift slightly from where it was tucked into the waistband of your trousers.

He leant back against the console, tilting his head. “I told you, Lyme Regis.”

“Why Lyme Regis?” You couldn’t help but ask, your curiosity demanded to be sated. “Why _Dorset?”_

“Why Queen Victoria’s Coronation Ball?” The Master retorted and you huffed, watching him stroll over to you with an expression of smug amusement. You should’ve known that he’d be difficult today, after how off he had been when you’d first entered the console room.

“Fine.” You relented. “If you’re going to be evasive-”

“St Michael the Archangel Church.” 

He interrupted you the instant you had implied that you were losing interest. As much as he seemed to like your subservience, you’d noticed that he despised any display of passivity. It was almost fun to bait him, if you were careful not to push him too far.

“Hmm?” You pressed, shocked by the speed in which he’d given in.

He smirked. “It seemed… appropriate.”

It was hard for you to ignore the look in the Master’s eyes today. His grin did nothing to distract you from the pain you saw, smiling like he was trying to fill the cracks, fill the void. As ever, there was a storm brewing beneath the surface, but the intensity of his anguish nearly made you breathless. Misery radiated off of him in waves; it was impossible that you’d never felt it before. 

Perhaps you’d been distracted.

“You’re so….” You breathed, but cut yourself off with a shake of your head.

The Master tilted his chin, suddenly closer to you than you’d thought.

“So….?” He prompted in a low voice, unsatisfied, his hands gripped the railing on either side of you.

You leant forward, head forced upwards to meet his gaze in such close proximity. It was difficult to miss the way his eyes caressed your face, lingering in places they shouldn’t, unabashed. Blinking, you pretended you hadn’t seen. But you had, and it’d take a lifetime to forget the way he’d glanced at your lips, fixated on the way you wetted them nervously before you spoke.

“Never mind.” You muttered, and turned your cheek.

_Coward._

You heard the word clear in your mind, but you weren’t sure whose voice it had been in, yours or his? He was so frequently _on_ your mind anyway, would you even be able to tell if he was _in_ your head? You heard him huff out a breath as he stepped away, and you deemed it safe to allow yourself a furtive glance in his direction. 

You couldn’t see his face. He was standing poised to open the TARDIS doors, but his hands against the lock seemed hesitant. With a deep breath and a characteristic flourish, he flung them open, revealing the grey clouds and green grass and fresh air of Earth. _Home._

The smile that lit up your face was tainted. The last time you’d set foot on this planet, albeit hundreds of years in the future when it had been “orphaned”, you had nearly died. But this was _your_ Earth, as familiar as your own reflection in the mirror, or the sound of your heartbeat, _or the smell of cinnamon_. This was Home. 

You couldn’t imagine for a second burning this place to the ground.

_Or perhaps you could._

The intrusive idea made you nauseous.

There was a graveyard before you, a church to your left, beyond that, a tidy little village. You couldn’t see the sea but you could taste it on your lips, that rich, intoxicating ozone-saltiness that made you long to feel the sand between your toes, the water lapping at your ankles. _Oh, why couldn’t he have landed on the beach?_ You exhaled a wistful sigh.

“So, what now?” You asked, breathing in the clean air with relish as you gazed out hungrily.

The Master was watching you with something akin to amusement, or maybe fascination. “Now, we wait for the Doctor to get here.”

“She’s late?” Your tone was full of wry mirth, one eyebrow raised.

He mimicked your expression, yet his eyes held a potent bitterness. “Isn’t she always?”

It took a moment of birdsong, of the breeze in the nearby treetops, of waves rolling somewhere beyond your field of vision, to make you miss the sound of his voice accompanying them.

“You’ve still got to tell me all about being the Prime Minister one day.” You commented, aiming for nonchalance but missing, and falling somewhere near desperation instead.

In your peripheral vision, you saw him raise an eyebrow. “You won’t like it.”

“And yet I’m still curious.” You replied with a shake of your head. _There it was, the summary of your relationship._

The Master scoffed, and mirrored you, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are unbelievably nosy, I cannot wait to be free of you.”

At this, you turned to face him, leaning against the doorframe and fixing him with a playful, narrowed-eye glare. “You’re going to be _bored_ when I'm gone.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will.”

“No, I’m really _quite sure_ that I won’t.” His incredulity was almost endearing, if you dared to call anything that the Master did _endearing_. You shrugged, palms towards him in surrender. 

“You’ll go and blow up a planet just to feel something.” When you spoke, your tone was airy and vapid and teasing, but your words were laced with truth. 

The Master turned his head sharply, nostrils flaring. The manic light in his eyes had returned, and with it, his foreboding power. 

He took a calculated step forward, trapping you against the doorframe, so close you could feel his breath against your cheeks. 

_“Would you like that?”_ He asked in a voice as rich and smooth as molten gold; the timbre made your legs shake.

How were you supposed to answer that? You knew how you _should_ answer it, how you _could_ answer it, but the words that you willed to come froze in place and shattered. He was _so close_ to you. You’d only have to raise your arms for your hands to be pressed against his chest, your fingers curled into his silk waistcoat. The idea was as dizzying as it was impossible. _And yet…._

You were about to speak, your lips already parted and drawing his attention, when a shout from the graveyard made you both look up.

“She’s here.” The Master grumbled through gritted teeth, suddenly distant and detached as he moved away from you. With a slight shiver, you folded your arms in front of yourself and craned your neck upwards, trying to spot your friends. The thrill of excitement that rushed through you upon spotting the familiar rich blue of the Doctor’s TARDIS reminded you just how much you had missed her and the fam over the past few days. Yaz, Ryan, Graham, _how good it will be to see their faces again!_

Then, the Doctor rushed into view, her pale coat nearly the same colour as the sky, followed by the rest of the fam. They were walking fast, but you could sense the caution in their movements; standing at his side, it was sometimes too easy to forget that the Master was such a dangerous enemy. Ryan spotted you first, presumably, pointing out your position in the doorway to the others. You heard his voice, then Yaz’s, and your heart lurched with happiness that _they had come back for you_. The Doctor had come back to get you..

Having forgotten yourself, you had nearly stepped out of the TARDIS when the Master grabbed your hand, tugging you back towards him and holding you close to his side. His grip was harsh and unyielding as he paraded you forward. He was careful to keep his TARDIS directly behind you both, walking slower than the Doctor if only so that he was closer to his one method of escape, and she further from her own. When you all finally met, the Doctor was poised with her hands on her hips, the fam fanned out behind her, and the Master had you clutched tight to him.

“Doctor.” He greeted, and your head shot up at the sound of his voice. So shocked were you at the sudden coldness, the now-unfamiliar malice and tension with which he spoke. 

His eyes briefly flicked to yours, burning with a phenomenal heat, and you heard his warning inside your head. _Behave._

“Master.” The Doctor sounded disgusted.

“You came.” He remarked, nonchalant.

“Of course I did.” Her scoff made you shift uncomfortably, _her voice was nearly as cold as the Master’s._ Her eyes met yours and softened. “(Y/N), are you alright?”

You didn’t know what you had expected, maybe an _I'm so sorry for leaving you to die even though you agreed to it_ or an _I should’ve come to get you sooner instead of abandoning you with my worst enemy_. But she wasn’t omniscient, she wasn’t perfect, you knew that now better than the rest of the fam. She was your friend, and she was here now.

_So why did this all feel so wrong?_

You nodded firmly, and felt the Master’s grip creep down your arm. “Yes, Doctor, I’m fine.”

She gave you a warm smile, one that filled you with genuine and uncomplicated affection for her. Your eyes drifted to Yaz and Ryan at her left, whose faces were tense, lips pressed together; then to Graham, who looked stricken. All three of them had pity in their expression, pity and fear. It confused you.

_“Archangel.”_ The Doctor said, gesturing to the churchyard around her. “How _nostalgic.”_

“I thought a little reference might get your attention.” Replied the Master without missing a beat. “I have a whole _network_ of these little hidey-holes”

The fam had the decency to look even more uneasy at his declaration, the three of them sharing glances as the Doctor stepped forward. “Found them all during your 77 years here, did you?”

He glared at her, and although you couldn’t see him do so, you could _feel_ the intensity of it. “Some of them.”

“What do you want?” The Doctor suddenly blurted out, her eyes narrowed, her knuckles nearly white against her hips. You watched as the fam pulled closer to her, and you instinctively shifted to do the same, but the Master tightened his hold on you.

“Excuse me?”

“What do you want in exchange for (Y/N)?” The Doctor seemed exasperated, and knowing now some of the history between them, you could feel her frustration. “Why take her if you didn’t want something?”

The Master laughed mirthlessly, and you flinched. “Is that why _you_ took her Doctor?” His voice was smooth and dangerous. “Is it so hard to believe that I _like her company?”_

You felt his fingers against your wrist, tapping out a frenetic rhythm, before stilling against your racing pulse.

“Don’t play games with me, Master.” The Doctor sneered; you could almost picture her and the Master as children on Gallifrey, running through the red grass, playing and fighting, bickering with each other.

“Or me, either.” You muttered, flicking your eyes up to his.

His contemptuous glare muted you in an instant. _“Be quiet.”_

You shook silently in the Master’s hold, the contrast between the insistent but gentle press of his fingers at your wrist and the sheer rage rolling off him like the tide terrified you beyond anything you’d experienced before.

He, of course, proceeded to ignore you, addressing his malice to his real adversary. “I want you to listen to me.”

The Doctor sighed, evidently as exhausted as you felt. “Well, I’m listening.” 

“Come with me, I need to take you to Gallifrey.” The Master said. It seemed to be more of a command than a request. _As if you expected any different._

“You _destroyed_ Gallifrey.”

“Doctor, let me _show you-”_

“You think that I’d willingly go anywhere with you now?” The Doctor threw her hands up with a groan, blonde hair flaring out as she shook her head. “You are a-”

“Agree or she dies.” The Master interrupted her, voice unfocussed, barely above a murmur.

“What?” The Doctor stilled, eyes wide.

Every nerve in your body froze, or burned, simultaneously. _What?_

You felt his other hand, the one not encircling your wrist, slide down your back. His fingers dipped just below the waistband of your jeans with a careful tenderness, warm against your skin, and he gently tugged your knife upwards from where it had been resting. You gasped at the feel of the cool metal slipping from its place and began to struggle in the Master’s arms as he shushed you. Without a moment of hesitation, the blade was at your throat.

_It felt like a long time since he had last had his hands at your throat._

“I _said_.” The Master repeated, this time with more power, tone dripping with self-satisfied intent. _“Agree or she dies.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told you that shit was going to hit the fan.


	12. Broken Hourglass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope as always that you're all safe and well :))
> 
> Once more, I've had to split this chapter into two parts, even though this was originally attached to _last_ chapter!
> 
> I've also been wondering if guys would be interested in some parts/chapters from the Master's point of view? Just an idea, so let me know what you think in the comments.
> 
>  **Trigger warning:** mild gore/injury (mentions of blood)

The irony was not lost on you. You were being threatened with the very knife that the Master had given you as a gift less than an hour ago. Was this his plan all along? Arm you, make you let your guard down, and then use it against you? It seemed likely, and yet you couldn’t make yourself believe it.

“Master-” You tried, lips parted as you attempted to breathe shallowly.

“Shut up.” He pressed the flat of the blade to your throat, a warning. 

“Please-”

“Shut _up!_ ” His voice was wild with pain and rage, and once more you could sense the misery that enveloped him. It was his only constant companion.

You shut your eyes tight, squeezing them to block out his hurt. With a sick shock, you realised that you _felt_ it too, it was more than just empathy, you could _feel_ his anguish coursing through you. It was a foreign entity within you; you could distinguish it from your own pain as clearly as telling sea from sky, but there was a definite horizon where they touched. So you pushed back, blurring your fear and misery into the edges of his and hoping that this was mutual, that a door once opened could go both ways, and that the Master could feel you too.

“I need to do this.” When he spoke once more, his voice was as soft as if he hadn’t even spoken. It was meant just for you, the heat of his words against the shell of your ear, the slight lump in his throat, and the threat that lay just beneath it all.

“Let her go, Master.” The Doctor fumed, and you opened your eyes to see her standing with her palms up, eyes blazing. “She doesn’t need to be a part of this.”

Your brow crumpled. _I’m already a part of this._

It was as though the Master heard you, perhaps he did, lips hot and fervent at your temple. “As I told you before, you’re nothing more than collateral damage.”

The knife inched further up your throat, no longer the safe flat of the blade against your skin. You tried to shift away from it, straining uselessly up into the Master’s arms on your tiptoes until he growled at you to stop struggling. The sharp edge burned ice cold, making you whimper.

“Fine! I’ll come with you!” The Doctor relented as your wide eyes met hers. You didn’t imagine the fear that you saw there, a reflection of your own. “Just let (Y/N) go.”

The Master laughed aloud, the sound was harsh and devoid of humour. You watched Yaz and Ryan flinch away, even Graham wouldn’t look at you. They were passive, entirely passive, as a knife was held to your throat.

“Oh, love, don’t you see?” The Master chuckled darkly, voice so low you knew only you could hear it once more. “You're just a bargaining chip.”

The Doctor strained forward, lips set into a firm line, evidently trying to hear the Master’s words, or yours, garbled in response. Your head was tilted up, and if you turned it to the side just a little, you could see the Master’s eyes in your peripheral vision, as dark as ever. 

“ _I am so much more than that_ , Master.” You hissed through gritted teeth, a moment of clarity in your panic. “And you know it.”

He didn’t reply, _of course_ , but you watched his expression shift ever so slightly. The mania in those hellish eyes dimmed just a little, the inferno calmed into curling flames. You felt some minuscule ounce of his rage ebb away as he lifted his head from yours to address the Doctor.

“We go to Gallifrey in your TARDIS, you leave _them_ here.” The Master gestured vaguely to the fam with the knifepoint. “I keep (Y/N) until I am back in my own TARDIS.” 

When he spoke, his voice was composed, steady, even if you could feel him shaking, trembling with every heaving breath. His eyes flickered to your face. “Then, _she’s all yours_.”

From your perilous position, you thought that his offer was reasonable; there was no genocide involved, no burning planets (that hadn’t already been burnt), even Yaz, Ryan and Graham would be safe from his wrath. _It was as good as you were going to get from him._ But the Doctor seemed to disagree.

“No, you let her go _now_. Then, we’ll talk.” Her tone was close to patronizing, as if she was trying to placate a small child. You wondered if that had _ever_ worked on the Master.

Graham stepped forward, hands raised in an imitation of the Doctor’s earlier surrender. “We go with the Doc.”

“Yeah, there’s no way we’re letting her go anywhere with you.” Added Yaz, and Ryan agreed with a sharp nod, rushing to stand with his grandfather.

Their defensiveness warmed you, and you were struck suddenly by just how much you had _missed_ them. Even though you’d never felt like the family they all seemed to think you were, they were your friends, and they were here to try and get you back. You gave them a tight, brief smile.

But then, the insistent press of the knife under your chin grounded you in the present. The Master was dragging it slowly across your throat, and you could feel the hot wetness of blood on your skin. 

“I could always just… _slip_.” He teased; his voice was bolstered by feigned nonchalance, but his threat was very real. You screwed your eyes shut once more.

“Alright!” The Doctor yelled, and the blade stilled. “Alright, we do it your way, but if you harm her-”

“Don’t make me have to.” The Master interrupted with bitter venom. “I’m sure I couldn’t do much worse than leave her for dead on a radioactive orphan planet, now could I, Doctor?”

You held back a whimper as the Master turned the knife, smearing your blood down your neck with the flat of the blade, sharp edge no longer poised to kill. The Doctor’s silence was all the submission he seemed to need.

“But that can be arranged.” He added hastily. “So I suggest we _get moving_.”

At this, the Doctor sneered in disgust, but her expression collapsed into concern once she saw the blood on the blade. Nodding, she turned to Graham, calling Ryan and Yaz over. You watched through tear-filled eyes as she instructed them to hold tight, to _stay here_ and _stay together._

“I won’t leave any of you behind. I’ll come back for you.” You heard the Doctor say firmly, and the words felt like another blade pressing into your skin. 

Sensing your distress, the Master chuckled mirthlessly, sliding the knife down from your throat until it rested at your collarbone.

“Oh sweetheart….” He purred against your temple. “ _The Doctor lies_.”

You swallowed, blinked away your tears, and stared forward as the Master lowered the weapon and slid it back into your waistband. He did it so softly that the blade didn’t even graze the smooth skin of your hip.

“But she did come back for me.” You murmured, trying to push down the hurt rising within you. “She’s _here._ ”

“She’s here, yes.” The Master replied in a blank tone. _“But for which one of us?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MC and two all-powerful timelords walk into the TARDIS.  
>  _What could possibly go wrong?_


	13. A Feeling Inside That I Can't Domesticate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa okay so I am so sorry that it's been nearly two weeks since I last updated. Things have been crazy for me. I had my final assignment for my first year of uni due and I procrastinated it to a ridiculous degree.  
>  _But_ I am free for the summer now!
> 
> Also, _how much of this story is dialogue?_ Don't you all get bored of all the talking?
> 
> Anyway, hope that you all enjoy it and that you all are staying safe and well <3
> 
>  **Trigger warning:** mentions of injury, cursing, mentions of death

The next thing you remember is waking up in the Master’s TARDIS. You could recall following the Doctor inside, still clutched in the Master’s relentless grip, but everything after that was hazy. It was as if you were waking up on that fucking chaise longue for the first time again, only this time you weren’t injured, and you weren’t half as scared.

A figure swam into view, with the dark hair and broad shoulders of the Master. He looked down at you with a thousand separate conflicts in his eyes.

“What-?” You tried to say, tried to sit up, tried to not be so _weak_ in front of him for the millionth time. He just hushed you and moved to sit at the foot of the chaise longue.

You cleared your throat. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” He watched you closely, gaze void of concern, full of intrigue instead. 

Instantly, you furrowed your brow at him. _That didn’t seem like something you’d do._ Granted, you’d collapsed on Orphan 55, and then lost consciousness more than a few times on this TARDIS, but that had been when you were seriously injured. With trepidation, you reached for your throat, and found a thin bandage arranged like a collar. When you slipped your fingers under it, you found that the small cut that the Master had inflicted had already scabbed over. _Not blood loss then_ , you mused.

“Where’s the Doctor?”

“Outside. She’s safe.”

You nodded, reassured, then glanced towards the door. “Are we on Gallifrey?”

“No, darling.” The Master sighed. There was something very _off_ about the way he was speaking to you, all soft and sweet and _guilty_. The shock of his culpability rippled through you like icy water, and you glared up at him with more hurt than malice. You didn’t know how you knew, but you _knew_ that something was wrong, that he was hiding something. 

And based off of his unnerved expression, you knew that the Master knew that you knew. 

_Oh gods, what was going on with you?_

The Master leant forward all of a sudden, ducking his head away from you so that you couldn’t see his eyes. Then, his hands were in your hair, fingers at your temples, and you felt the familiar pull of unconsciousness once more. 

You tried to shake your head, remove his touch, run from the call of the abyss. “But-”

The last thing you heard was his voice, gentle as a lullaby. “Go to sleep, (Y/N).”

\---

**The Master**

_30 minutes earlier_

“You’ve redecorated.” The Doctor remarked upon entering the Master’s TARDIS for the first time in months. Her tone was cold. “I don’t like it.”

He rolled his eyes so hard that he felt the wriggling human in his arms flinch. “You don’t need to _like it._ ”

“So this is where you’ve been keeping her?” The Doctor continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “Where you _healed_ her?”

In turn, he pretended to ignore the way she raised her eyebrows, the way her hazel-brown eyes seemed to fix upon his hand at her companion’s waist.

“She’s not a wounded dog.” The Master scoffed, oddly agitated as he moved towards the console. (Y/N) was quick to keep up rather than stumble in his arms, _good girl._

The Doctor laughed without humour, a phenomenon that the Master had seen only rarely, and the mirthless glint of her eyes made him hope to never see it again. Even (Y/N) shook in his hold. _She had changed._

“I thought you always referred to my companions as pets?” She said in an unnecessarily accusatory tone.

(Y/N) cleared her throat; the Master smirked. 

“And _I_ thought you said you'd go back for them.” He recalled, cocking his head, blinking with an innocence that he didn’t possess. “Didn’t you promise that you’d go back? For your ‘fam’?”

“I did.” The Doctor was standing so rigidly upright it was a wonder that she hadn’t started to hover. _She seemed to loathe the idea of touching anything that belonged to me._

“Then shut up, or you’ll _accidentally_ break your promise.” The Master instructed with a grin. “As you have done so many times before.”

“If I had known that (Y/N) was still alive-” The Doctor spluttered, indignant, defensive.

_Got her._

He’d just wanted to hear her say it, hear her _admit_ that she’d abandoned her beloved companion and left her for dead on Orphan 55. He felt (Y/N) tense against him.

“How could you have known when you never thought to check?” He pressed, needing for her to defend herself, explain herself. The Doctor looked incandescent with anger, the frustration in her eyes only confirmed to him what he had already suspected, _he was giving her guilt that she had thought was already resolved._ If only (Y/N) had died on that planet, saving the Doctor and her fam, then she could’ve flown off in her TARDIS, the maker of another martyr, and everything would’ve been so _tragic_ , so _heartbreaking_ , so _uncomplicated_. (Y/N) was supposed to die, and now that she had so stubbornly refused to do so, she was a complication. _His_ complication. 

She was the most deadly and effective weapon against the Doctor that he had ever created, and all he had to do was save her life and tell her a few truths. Her potential was incalculable.

“Steal a human, show them the stars, then leave them behind when they get lost, or broken, or old, or _boring_.” He ran his hand across (Y/N)’s back as he spoke, fingers just brushing the hilt of the knife that he’d given her.

Once upon a time the Doctor’s eyes might’ve been filled with tears at his words, but here and now, they were simply ablaze with cold fury. “I am not what you say I am.”

“No, you’re not.” The Master sighed. “You’re so much _worse_.”

(Y/N) squirmed in his arms, twisting forward enough so that she could turn and fix him with a hurt gaze. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“Well, sweetheart-” The Master began, rolling his eyes when he was interrupted. 

“Can’t you just take her where you want to and tell her what you need to and then let me go?” (Y/N) implored, widening those impossible eyes beseechingly.

_Insolent little brat._

The Master glared down at her, his grip tightening until she whimpered. “You think you can make demands-”

“Please, Master.” 

The plea left her lips so naturally, as if she had it waiting ready. He heard the Doctor intake a sharp breath and cast his eyes briefly over to his enemy. She looked shocked, unnerved.

He glanced back down at the girl in his arms. “You grow too bold, love.”

A fierce and terrible rage burned within him, but he dared not let it reach the surface. How could he let her get away with so _much?_ Asking him questions, _and having him answer_ , entreating him for mercy, _and having him grant it_ , the thousand little transgressions that made her human, _and the thousand little exceptions that made him a fool._

_Why couldn’t he have left her to die? ___

__Perhaps this _complication_ would not only be the downfall of the Doctor, but also of him as well._ _

__The Master looked up once more at the Doctor, eyes filled with blazing pain, and watched as she glanced between him and her companion, her hazel eyes flicking between them with a powerful unease. (Y/N) never shifted her gaze from his face._ _

__“You won’t like what you find on Gallifrey.” The Master blurted out suddenly, words only half-directed at the other timelord._ _

__He shook his head, then finally tore his eyes from (Y/N), shifting his grip in a way that forced her back against his chest. Her heartbeat quickened and he _felt_ her panic rise._ _

__“My talent for destruction seems to grow… exponentially.” He murmured, almost in a daze as he stared out over (Y/N)’s head towards his enemy, eyes filled with something akin to _blind horror.__ _

___Exponentially_ , he mused, eyes caught on the living, breathing anomaly in his arms. Out there somewhere was another timeline where (Y/N) had gasped her last few breaths on Orphan 55, _and he had destroyed it_. That future was gone, and he had no idea what to do with the one he’d created._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're literally 13 chapters in and MC _still_ hasn't left the Master's TARDIS for more than a few minutes. When I tagged this fic as a slow burn, I meant it was a _slow burn_ in every way ;))


	14. The Earth Starts To Crumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohoho shit is _really_ hitting the fan now; I have had _a lot of fun_ writing this chapter. I'm also well into writing the next chapter too since I've had to split it from this one.
> 
> Yes, I am well aware that this counts as a serious deviation from the timeline/plot of s12 of Doctor Who, but I'm hoping that any liberties taken with canon aren't too unforgivable.
> 
> ~~One of the subtitles on my so-called “plan” for this chapter was “I let the plot abuse me”, so have fun with this one, lads.~~

**The Master**

The rest of the journey to Gallifrey was quick and silent. The Doctor stayed as far away from the Master as she could, poised by the door as if ready to run at any moment. (Y/N) was quiet in his hold, he had half-released her, gripping just her wrist, and she did not test his mercy.

When they reached the desecrated planet, the hush of the console room became oppressive; the Master realised that he had no idea how the Doctor would react. On another day, long since passed, he would’ve been able to predict every phrase, every expression, every inflection of his best enemy’s response, but those days were no more. That bridge had burned with Gallifrey. He had more of an idea of how (Y/N) might react, and he loathed to admit that he was dreading it. He could no longer find any part of him that wished to see her face crumple, to see her look at him with disgust, to see her eyes filled with pain. _Weak._

He needed her out of his TARDIS, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. She was a complication that he was longer sure he wanted to stake his claim on. 

_Liar._

His unwelcome thoughts were interrupted by a sharp gasp from the Doctor as they landed. She already had her hand on the door, trembling, preparing herself to see her home destroyed. One of the Master’s hearts twinged unexpectedly.

“Wait.” He commanded in a harsh, clipped tone. He began to walk towards the door, making the human in his hold yelp as she was tugged along without grace. When he got there, he glanced at the Doctor, the intensity of his eyes meeting hers worth far more than any further words. After all, what could he possibly say to her?

He opened the door, stepped outside with (Y/N), and watched the Doctor follow him with a grim relish. All three of them shared a sharp intake of breath.

The sight before them shocked even him, the conscious knowledge of what he had done crashing around him like the heavens were falling. Fires raged everywhere, seeming to simultaneously burn land and sky under the relentless glare of the orange sunlight. Where the flames had dimmed the ruins were accented with plumes of thick smoke, casting everything in a greyish pallor and plunging parts of the landscape into gloom. The air was acrid, foul, with none of the sweetness that it had once held. Gallifrey, the Homeworld of the Timelords, the Jewel of Kasterborous, the Shining World of the Seven Systems, _razed to the ground._

The Doctor gasped upon seeing what he had done, taking it in with tears in her eyes, a sob caught in her throat. The pain in the Master’s hearts nearly crippled him and he looked down at the human in his hold in an attempt at respite. (Y/N)’s eyes were shimmering with tears, reflecting the golden light of a million fires, but she did not cry out. Her silence shocked him, her stoicism in the face of an apocalypse. In his own foolishness, he had thought that the sight might break her, but here she was, trembling, biting at her lip, but still standing. 

_It’s not so different from Orphan 55._

The thought jolted him, _it wasn’t his_ , and he watched (Y/N) whip her head towards him. They shared a look that went beyond words, and he understood instantly. Something was terribly, terribly wrong with both of them. He had assumed it was just the effects of being in his TARDIS together for a few days, alone, in close proximity. He had assumed that they’d ended up linked by the telepathic interface of the machine’s consciousness. He assumed that things were simpler.

Somehow they had developed some odd approximation of a telepathic bond. It was low-level, non-intrusive, but it was there all the same. He’d known, to some degree; he’d been learning the tides of her emotions for a day or so at least now. But she wasn’t a timelord, she was _human_ , and this was decidedly rare. Granted, it was more of an empathic connection, mostly feelings, influences, rather than thoughts, but it still scared him beyond all the destruction before him. It almost scared him more than the reason he’d destroyed Gallifrey. _Almost._

_Oh no_ , this was _so much worse_ than he could have ever imagined.

(Y/N) was gazing at him with wide, frightened eyes. He glared back and shook his head. _Say nothing._

He didn’t know whether to be pleased or horrified when she nodded with a stunned expression; she’d decided to assent. _For now._

“What have you done?” The Doctor finally spoke, snapping the Master’s attention back to her. For a split second he thought that she was talking about what had just passed between him and her companion, that she _knew_ , before he remembered what ruins smoked before him.

“What I had to.” He replied without ceremony.

“You’re lying.” Blurted (Y/N), shutting her mouth so quickly after she’d spoken that it was a wonder she had managed to speak at all. 

The Master tightened his grip and glared down at her with a barely restrained fury. “I’m sorry?”

“You didn’t have to do this.” She replied, looking up at him with entire galaxies in her eyes. “You know you didn’t.”

He scoffed, and shoved her forwards out of his grasp. She stumbled to a halt directly between him and the Doctor before fixing him with a glare.

“Don’t tell me what you think you know, _love_.” He warned with all the venom that he could muster, empowered by the embers that smouldered around him.“You don’t know anything about me.”

She shook her head, gazing at him with those big, sad eyes, entirely softened once more. “I do.”

The Master turned his head away from her hurt expression, choosing to look at the Doctor instead when he spoke. “I should’ve left you on that disgusting planet to die, just like the Doctor did.”

“But you didn’t.” _Why was (Y/N)’s voice so hard to ignore?_ “I'd like to know why.”

“So would I.” The Doctor added, tone laden with both curiosity and frustration.

The Master sighed and decided to ignore the Doctor’s blatant irritation. “I told you, sweetheart, you’re nothing but a bargaining chip, something for me to trade to get what I want.”

“You’re useless to me now.” He experienced a brief moment of triumph, the hurt on (Y/N)’s face, the disgust on the Doctor’s, before he lost control of the entire situation.

“I’m a threat to you now.” (Y/N) stated, and his machinations collapsed.

The Doctor blinked at her companion, wide-eyed, disbelieving. “(Y/N), what-”

Without even glancing at her friend, (Y/N) cut her off, eyes fixed firmly on the Master’s face. “I’m a threat to you now, isn’t that right?”

“Why would you be a threat?” The Doctor was exasperated, for once not the centre of attention. She turned to her best enemy gracelessly. “Master, why is she a threat?”

“I didn’t mean for her to be.” He admitted into the open space between the three of them, unsure as to whom he was speaking to. The words were for the Doctor, but he spoke them without once looking at her.

(Y/N)’s eyes narrowed slightly. “So why aren’t I dead?”

Her brashness chafed at him, _he’d let her get away with far too much_. “Keep talking and you will be.”

“You won’t do it.” She shook her head, laughing as if she were him. He was shocked to find it so _unsettling._

“And why is that, sweetheart?” He spat through gritted teeth.

“Are you going to tell her?” (Y/N) prompted, tilting her head towards the Doctor though her eyes never left his. “Or should I?”

“Tell me what?”

“(Y/N). I’m _warning_ you…”

“That’s all you ever do!” The girl suddenly cried out, hands thrown haphazardly upwards, eyes alight with frustration and thrill both. “You’re full of empty threats, and you’re so _scared_ of just how empty they’ve become.”

The Doctor rushed forward and tugged at her companion’s arm, trying and failing to get her attention. “(Y/N) just stop, go inside, let the Master and I talk and then we can go home-”

The Master watched with delighted fascination as (Y/N) shrugged the Doctor off. _I wonder how many of her companions have ever dared to deny her in front of me_ , he mused, utterly gleeful.

“No, Doctor, please listen to me. You don’t understand, I can’t just _go home_ now-”

“She’s right.” The Master agreed, nodding his head at the human girl _just to make things clear._

The Doctor and (Y/N) paused their struggle, the former looked horrified, the latter, assured. It was _delicious_ to see his old friend at such a loss, usual swagger and arrogance gone, especially when her companion looked _so composed_. He had told (Y/N) once before that she would thrive in a position of power, long ago at the coronation ball, but only now did he see just how right he had been. He felt the sudden urge to run to a kingdom, topple a dynasty, steal a crown, _just so he could place it on her head_. 

“I can’t kill her.” He confessed, tone light and calm and blunt. 

Judging by her shocked expression and ghost-white face, he thought that the Doctor might just hurl herself at him. In sharp contrast, (Y/N) was watching him expectantly, the corners of her mouth upturned, careful and quiet. He could feel her adrenaline course through his own blood with sharp clarity. _Gods, he was enjoying this._

“I couldn’t let her die on Orphan 55 because she was useful to me.” Shrugging, he continued with exaggerated nonchalance, chin tilted benignly towards the Doctor. “But I can’t kill her now because…”

He let himself trail off, desperate to see just how _desperate_ they were for him to speak, who was the _most_ desperate, who would _throw themselves at his feet and beg._

“Yes?” (Y/N) prompted, one eyebrow raised in a sharp arch. _Of course it would be her, he could_ feel _that it would be her._

The Master grinned. “Because _I just don’t want to_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fuckery to come next chapter, hope y'all are looking forward to it ;))
> 
> Stay safe and stay sane guys <333


	15. The Heavens Roll Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _The fuckery continues._
> 
> Also, just as a heads up, this story does not have and has never had a beta reader so if you ever find any grammar/formatting issues, please let me know <3

**The Master**

(Y/N) had grinned the moment that the Master had, evidently sensing that his reluctance to kill her was genuine. The Master thought that her smile shouldn't have pleased him as much as it did.

“Master?” She asked, casually as if she were about to request a simple favour.

He indulged her. “Yes, love?”

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes at his compliance, tilting her head with a wry smirk. “I said: _are you going to tell her?”_

The Master rolled his eyes and took a moment to look at the Doctor, really _look_ at her. She was pale and wide-eyed and evidently _furious_ with him, with _both_ of them. How _exhilarating._

“Tell me wha- (Y/N), what have you done?” The Doctor demanded, turning on the girl beside her with both concern and horror in her eyes.

“Nothing that I regret.” Once again, the little human companion was comparatively still, composed. 

The Master felt the flare of the Doctor’s frustration, but he felt the tide of (Y/N)’s unease much more strongly, the nausea that she felt at having her friend turn on her crept up _his_ throat. If he knew how to feel calm he would’ve done, just to stem her discomfort. He quickly grew sick of watching them watch each other.

“She’s an empath, Doctor, and a remarkably gifted one at that.” He sighed, taking a long, shaky breath before cracking a self-satisfied smirk. “How did you not notice?”

(Y/N) looked up at him with an expression of resignation, whether she had really known her true nature before that moment the Master couldn’t tell, but he was sure that he had at least confirmed what she’d always suspected. The Doctor remained silent, her lips pressed into a firm line.

“Oh, so you _did_ notice.” He said, tilting his chin towards the Doctor. “I wondered why you kept her around when she was obviously so different from your beloved ‘fam’.”

He watched as (Y/N)’s expression of acceptance morphed into one of betrayal, a flash of anger igniting her eyes as she whipped her head between him and the Doctor. There was a sudden sick sensation in his stomach, a metallic tang in his mouth, and the Master realised that he was tasting (Y/N)’s pain. _For the first and last time_ , he promised himself, and (Y/N) looked up at him as if she had heard.

“You’re trying to tell me that you’ve _bonded_ with her?” The Doctor’s voice broke the moment with cold efficiency. “With a _human?”_

The Master scoffed at her obvious disdain. “Apparently so.”

_“How?”_ The Doctor demanded, as desperate for knowledge as ever, as concerned for everyone as she always was. Her indignation would’ve been endearing if it wasn’t so irritating.

“I have no idea.” The Master replied with a certain degree of glee. “I can’t read her thoughts, not often, not unless I aim to, and she can’t read mine.”

_Not like us_. The projection was accompanied with a smirk and a tilt of the head, the Doctor simply nodded at him. (Y/N) looked between the pair, once again caught in the middle, and if the Master had been a more melodramatic man he would’ve sworn that he saw a spark of jealousy in the human’s eyes.

“But feelings, intuitions, emotions… that’s all fair game.” He continued in a light, delighted, teasing tone, eyes fixed firmly on (Y/N). “Isn’t that right, love?”

She seemed torn for a moment, he knew how much she wanted to give into it, into _him_ , but he also knew that she wouldn’t, not just yet. With an uncertain shake of her head, she looked away from him. “Doctor, I don’t know how it happened, what I did-”

The Doctor comforted her instantly. “It’s okay, (Y/N), we’ll fix it-”

“It’s not something that can be fixed, Doctor.” The Master stated, palms spread, face open and innocent. His expression changed instantly when he risked a glance at (Y/N), eyes darkening. _And why would you want to?_

“I’ll fix it.” The Doctor insisted, but the Master detected the uncertainty, the wariness in her features as she looked at her companion. It made him uneasy.

“And how are you going to do that?” He asked with more genuine intrigue than he had wanted to display openly.

_You know how_. The Doctor’s voice in his head was jarring in a way that it had never been before. When they were friends, hearing her voice in his head, regardless of regeneration, was a pleasant experience. The years had marred it, as they seemed to have marred _her._

“You wouldn’t do that to her.” He spoke aloud without realising, so shocked by the Doctor’s implication that he daren’t think it alone.

“Master?” (Y/N)’s voice was pathetically small; she’d clearly sensed his growing horror. Even he couldn’t block emotions that strong from their bond yet. “What-?”

“You’d erase her memory?” The Master ignored her in favour of her mentor; he didn’t want (Y/N) assuming that any of his _utter fury_ was directed at her. “You’d make her forget she ever knew about the bond?”

The Doctor was exasperated. “Isn’t that what you want?”

“You don’t care what I want.” The Master laughed, cold and incredulous. “So don’t pretend.”

(Y/N)’s eyes were wide as she glanced between the two timelords, stricken. “Doctor, what is he talking about?”

The Master _almost_ chuckled at the way the companion then looked expectantly at the Doctor, like a student waiting for instructions or a child waiting for guidance, but he found that he couldn’t. (Y/N)’s sudden panic stifled his amusement with an alarming efficiency.

“She wants to wipe this from your memory, (Y/N), make you forget all of this.” He heard himself say in a tone far more serious than he usually chose. The bond between them was crackling with energy and emotion, and it took all of his control to subdue it.

(Y/N) half-gasped, the sound caught in her throat. “No, Doctor, you can’t-”

“(Y/N), please trust me.” The Doctor’s appeal was immediate and composed, as if practised. “Look at what he has done, he tried to kill us, all of us, he is your _enemy._ ”

(Y/N) bristled, eyes flashing with manic light; her chin whipped upwards to face the Doctor directly. _Oh, this is going to be good_ , the Master thought, feeling vague pulses of anger through the bond as he wrestled with it.

“Doctor, right now I’m standing between someone who left me to die, and someone who healed me, someone who is threatening to wipe my memory, and someone who understands me better than anyone else is ever going to.” (Y/N) rounded on the Doctor with blunt, quick words, punctuating herself with staccato gestures. She turned, briefly, to grant the Master an ambiguous glance.

“I didn’t ask for any of this.” She continued, still looking at him with all the intensity of a burning star. “But I will answer for it.”

The Master felt his breath hitch, _her_ force, _her_ power. For a timelord it would be admirable, for a human it was remarkable, for anyone to command attention with such self-assured authority was downright _intoxicating_. He could not repress the smirk that curled his lip as he looked at her, his gaze hot and hopeless.

“(Y/N), you have to listen to me-” The Doctor implored, approaching her companion but stilling when she was cut off.

“I will decide what I have to do.” (Y/N) interrupted smoothly, and not unkindly. “It’s time for you to trust _me_ , Doctor.”

At this, the human took a step towards the Master, an intentional, careful step. When he did not flinch, she took another, and suddenly he was walking forwards to meet her.

“Sweetheart, what are you doing?” He asked when she was at arm’s length, and at the gentle warning in his tone she bit her lip.

“Master, answer me this, is it true that there’s no way to reverse the bond?” Her voice was low and soft, threatening to wobble if she raised it again. 

The Master wanted nothing more than to take her up in his arms, or else push her away from him and flee in his TARDIS without looking back. _Probably the latter_. From the odd, slightly jarred ebb and flow of raw emotion through the bond, he assumed that she was feeling the same.

“It can’t be reversed, no, but since it is so fresh it will fade into almost nothingness when you leave.” He told her, without theatrics, without so much as a raised eyebrow.

(Y/N) bit down hard on her lip once more and cast a glance over her shoulder without turning. “Doctor, is that true?”

The Doctor nodded curtly. “Yes, you’ll hardly feel it once you’re separated.”

“But it’ll always be there?” 

“Yes.”

“Then how is it possible for me to ever fully forget it?”

If the Master was a hopeful man, a man less corrupted by cynicism and pain, then he might’ve been able to believe that (Y/N) didn’t _want_ to forget the bond. He could only allow himself to trust that she didn’t want to forget _him_ , and that was more likely to be due to her own integrity and sense of self than any effect he had had on her. _It would all be easier if she was dead_ , he thought with a grim sense of resignation. He had done this, for once he had saved a life instead of ending it and _just look where it had gotten him_. 

Somewhere in the midst of his despair he heard the Doctor sigh and he looked up, his full attention once more back on the stricken girl in front of him. He met (Y/N)’s eyes just as the Doctor spoke.

“After today, I’ll make sure you never see each other again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you think this chapter is wild you better get your shit together before I next update ;)))


	16. The Last Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to publish this and run, okay? Have fun.

**The Master**

_“After today, I’ll make sure you never see each other again.”_

At the very idea, the Master felt as though he’d been shoved in the chest by large, cold hands. He felt a sharp pang of pain in his shoulder and pressed his hand to it in surprise, looking up at (Y/N) and finding his parallel. She had her fingers clasped firmly around her upper arm, where the new scar from the wound she’d received on Orphan 55 marred her skin. Her eyes met his in a warm shock of sympathy, both of them grimacing. _It seems the pain of separation has found a way to manifest itself, wonderful._

“Will you? Make sure we never meet again?” The Master asked the Doctor through gritted teeth. “That’s quite a claim to make.”

“And what if-” (Y/N) started, then took a sharp breath and tried again. “What if I don’t want to forget the bond?”

The Master grinned, the pain in his shoulder ebbing as he looked at the human. He spoke with a pleased, husky voice. “Then I guess we’ve reached a stalemate.”

The Doctor shot him a furious glare, before her eyes softened. “(Y/N), listen to yourself here, don’t you realise how dangerous this is?”

(Y/N) scowled, a vile, delicious expression on her, and shook her head with vigour. “If this bond is really as permanent as you say, then I don’t want to forget it.”

She took a sharp breath, as if the hot, stale air hurt her. “I don’t want to pretend that it doesn't exist, that _he_ doesn’t exist, Doctor. You can’t expect that from me.”

“I can, and I do. I want to keep you safe.” The Doctor stated with all the gentleness of a knife wound. She began to approach her companion with quick, confident steps, evidently surprised when the girl moved away from her, _and further towards the Master._

“My past is mine, Doctor.” (Y/N) declared, her back nearly pressed against the Master’s chest. “My memories and my thoughts are mine, and now, some of them are his, too.”

The glance that she gave him over her shoulder was so complicated, so rich and puzzling and beguiling, that he nearly stumbled. Pretending not to notice, she continued, facing her friend once more. “You don’t have to like that, none of us do, but it’s the truth.”

“Why are you accepting this?” The Doctor lamented, watching with alarm as the Master raised his hand to (Y/N)’s waist, holding her steady. “What has he done to you?”

(Y/N)’s laugh was hollow, and disbelief dripped from her tone as she strode forward and out of the Master’s hold, shaking him off. “What choice do I have but to accept this?” 

The Master watched with fascination, admiration, as she confronted the Doctor. The human girl stood tall. “You’d lie to me, mess with my head, and call it protection?”

The Doctor’s silence was heavy, guilty - it was all the confirmation that the three of them needed. (Y/N)’s shoulders sagged with unhappiness, her sigh stilted with the threat of tears, the back of her hand running across her forehead. The fragility of her composure, so human against the alien backdrop, reminded the Master of her first few hours in his TARDIS, when she’d been so strong despite all of her pain and her fear.

“(Y/N), look at me.” He’d spoken before he had thought to, and the obvious shock in the words made the command all the more compelling.

“Don’t-”

(Y/N) ignored the Doctor’s protest as if she hadn’t made it, turning her head to look at him with eyes filled with pain and rage and exhaustion. 

“You understand now, you see her as I do.” He continued, keeping his voice low in some attempt to soothe the misery radiating off of her.

She took a shaky breath and exhaled heavily through her nostrils. “Not quite.”

The Master shook his head, hands unconsciously outstretched towards her, coaxing her. “The hypocrisy, the arrogance, so ready to dive into your head, chop and change as she sees fit, _even when she doesn’t know her own past._ ”

(Y/N) turned fully towards him now, her back to the Doctor, her full and undivided attention on him. The intensity startled them both. “Master, what are you saying?”

He took a glance at the Doctor, then at the ruins of Gallifrey, then at his TARDIS, trying to subdue the deep ache of (Y/N)’s misery, the tearing sensation of her conflict.

“Come with me.” He murmured into the hazy air, and he reached out a steady hand to her.

The fear in her expression sparked anew, and suddenly tears were slipping down her cheeks. “But you- you were handing me over, I’m a _bargaining chip_ , I’m your _collateral damage!_ And she-”

“And _she_ is trying to get me to erase your memories.” He might’ve been crying too now, he wasn’t sure if the tears were all hers anymore, or if they were his as well. His hand was still outstretched, his eyes never left hers. “At least one of us is willing to tell the truth here.”

“You have to understand, look at what he has _done_ , he will only destroy you-” The Doctor’s voice was high and frantic. The Master was dimly aware of her rushing forwards towards her companion, but he didn’t turn his head to look.

“Then so be it.” Declared (Y/N), eyes lingering on the Master even as she turned her head to confront her friend. “Have you even asked him why he did it? Why he did _any_ of this?”

Without waiting for a response, (Y/N) stared down the Master once more, eyes reflecting the light of the dying fires. “Master, what is it that you want from me?”

“I don’t know.” He replied in an instant. “I thought I knew.” 

“So did I.” She agreed, the hurt in her expression was delicate and sharp. “I wanted to hear you say it.”

She walked towards him, as calm as if she’d been greeting an old friend, but he could feel the tempest that raged inside of her flooding through the bond. It was a conflict that did not and could not express itself on the surface. Her smile was sad and beautiful, her face just like those old illustrations of princesses in tragic stories, except with more vitality. He noticed the instant she stepped into his reach just how warm she was, how alive and animated, how full of vigour. How _human._

“Just… come with me.” He pressed, unable to stop himself and for once glad of it. “You will rule galaxies at my side.”

He could see the Doctor approaching, silent, glassy-eyed, but he couldn’t find the words to warn the girl in his arms.

“I will make you my queen.” He promised, gripping her wrists tightly in his hold, pulling her towards him until there was less than a foot between them. Once again he pictured her draped in finery, ropes of jewels around her neck, a magnificent crown on her pretty head, a smile on her lips, in her eyes. 

_And you at my side_. He heard it so clearly in his mind, her voice in his head, the evidence of her effort written on her face as she looked expectantly up at him, suddenly coy. The shock of it, of the image of the two of them, beside each other in the throne room of the universe, was enough to make him stumble. His hands rushed upwards, cupping her cheeks, fingers delving into her hair before his thumbs came to rest at her temples.

_I’m sorry._

He could tell that she heard him. The very moment he thought it he watched as her face crumbled, as her smile fell, as the tears slipped down her cheeks with more force and she tried to shake his hands off of her.

“You have made me your fool instead.” She accused bitterly, trying to back away as he kept her still, held fast in his arms. Looking over her head reluctantly, he locked eyes with the Doctor, who nodded at him, lips set into a stoic line. Her approval only made him feel worse.

“Rather I did it than her.” The Master murmured with a grim smirk.

(Y/N) scoffed through her tears. “I think I preferred your hands at my throat.”

“Oh?” He teased, aware that this would most likely be the last time he ever got to tease her, to touch her.

“Before I- before-” (Y/N)’s expression was suddenly serious, eyes closed as she struggled to reassemble her beautiful poise. 

The Master was dimly struck by the notion that as much as he adored her rage and chaos, she was the only composed thing he had ever thought beautiful. “Yes?”

“Tell me your name.” She said, eyelashes fluttering as she gazed up at him as if he was the last thing she’d ever see. 

“My- what?” He couldn’t hide his shock.

“I’ll forget it anyway. I’d like to know.” Her moment of clarity was as bewitching as it was tragic.

“Love…”

“I would’ve come with you.” She blurted, trembling in his arms with the weight of her repressed rage and pain, like a tidal wave held back by a spider web.

“I know. I _knew_.” He clutched her closer, tighter, to him and his warmth, wishing for all and every world that he could just take her far away and never return. Run without looking back as he did on Orphan 55. _But he couldn’t, he didn’t, and now he never would._

“So you know that I...?” (Y/N)’s eyes were wide, he committed them to memory. 

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t have to say it?”

“Say it, _say it._ ” He begged, tasting salt on his lips as she could taste it on hers. “Please, (Y/N).”

“Then tell me your name.” She breathed, her own hands reaching up to cup his face, sending a rush of heat through the bond.

His lips were dry, his throat scratchy, voice husky. “Koschei.”

“Koschei, I-”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I meant when I said that "I let the plot abuse me".


	17. Make No Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lmao I nearly made MC stay in the TARDIS for the entire Gallifrey scene could you imagine how much that would’ve changed the story? _Wild._
> 
> Also, I don’t know loads about the Academy Era but I think I know enough about Theta Sigma/Koschei to introduce some elements from that era (not many, I promise it won't be limiting). To be perfectly honest, I needed the Master to have a name.
> 
> As always, enjoy! <3

**The Master**

_“Koschei, I-”_

(Y/N)’s eyes slid closed and she fell limp in his arms. The Doctor stood behind her, revealed by her collapse, hands raised and still frozen where her companion’s head had been.

“No, no, no-” The Master crumpled to the ground with the human in his arms, taking the weight of her with surprising force. He looked up at the Doctor standing over him and felt a deep, specific, unending rage surface.

“You couldn’t do it.” The Doctor said with a warmth that pained him to hear. “I don’t think you wanted to.”

He shook his head, half in a daze, half stuck in cold reality. “She was- she was about to-”

“Master...” The Doctor tried to appeal to him. Once, long ago, she might’ve reached out, touched him, held him in her arms again as her dearest friend. He couldn’t pinpoint the moment when it had all gone so wrong for them, but the unconscious human in his arms was the stark proof that it had.

The Master was shaking violently, gritting his teeth to keep some semblance of composure. “You don’t know what she-”

“I did what needed to be done.” The Doctor cut him off, and her voice was cold once more, detached. He watched her expression neutralise, like a veil dropping over her face, and hated her for it. 

“Do you think she meant it?” He asked, steeling himself to look down at (Y/N)’s face. She was so peaceful in sleep, the rage and fear and hurt that had electrified her features had slipped away, leaving nothing but stillness. Such complete stillness, the like of which the Master had never felt in his life. 

The Doctor observed him with cool, narrowed eyes. “Meant what? She didn’t say anything.”

He whipped his head up. “You must have heard her, you were close enough to- to-”

“She didn’t say anything.” The Doctor repeated, voice slow and level, monotone. Her eyes flashed with warning. “You’d do best to forget this ever happened.”

The Master laughed, but the sound was odd, closer to a sob, and it tore through the oppressive atmosphere. He wanted to stand, to face the Doctor as equals, to arrange his expression so that he could tease and taunt without the pain bleeding through. Such a facade would be worth nothing now that the Doctor had seen him on his knees, tears in his eyes, and the realisation of that fact tasted sharp and bitter and sick.

“That’s what you do, isn’t it? Just choose to “forget”.” He spat through a grimace, voice warbling with grief. “You have no idea how ironic that is, you have no idea-”

“Then tell me.” The Doctor’s tone was still cool, aloof, disconnected. “That is what you brought me here for, after all.”

“You don’t deserve to know now.” _The words came pouring out before he could put up walls to stop them._ “Not after what you’ve just done.” _He was too far gone to think about how this must look to her._ “You couldn’t live with yourself.”

“Stop acting like a child!” 

_There it was._

The Master smiled, reluctantly and without amusement, at the Doctor’s accusation. He had begun to wonder when her composure would slip, when her volatility would rear it’s beautiful head and bite.

“You don’t get to tell me what I can handle.” She continued haughtily, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. If he was honest, he’d been getting concerned that the passionate, willful, stubborn Doctor that he had once allied himself with had gone and been replaced by a timelord as cold and detached as any of the others. It was a relief to hear her angry with him once more.

“I do today.” The Master decided. “After what you just- it would destroy you.”

It was the Doctor’s turn to laugh, but once again, the sound rang hollow. “And wouldn’t you just love that?”

Before he could think of some witty retort, the human girl cradled in his arms stirred in her sleep, drawing his full and immediate attention. She murmured something unintelligible, but did not wake. The Master swallowed, eyes flitting from her face to the twitch of her hands, then to the even rise and fall of her chest. _It was like finding her injured and beaten on Orphan 55 all over again._

“Just take her home.” He said, resigned, trying to shift the lump in his throat.

“So all of this has been a waste of time?” The Doctor grumbled, but he was no longer paying her the privilege of his undivided attention. 

“You kidnap my companion, hold her hostage, and then when I come to save her, you show me my home in ruins and then force me to wipe her memory because you can’t do it.” Her voice was drifting in and out of focus, her accusatory tone barely registered. “And for what?”

“ _Our_ home.” The Master murmured. “This was _our_ home.”

The Doctor sighed; it was a long, world-wearied sigh, as if the entire weight of Gallifrey was on her shoulders. “Master, why did you do this?”

“Because there is something you need to know about the Timeless Child.” He admitted without fanfare, without grace, without remorse. For once, he was _tired_. What had started as a triumphant day, a day to wield and express his power, had crumbled into _this_ , this _utter disaster._

“Then tell me.” 

“Not today, not now.” He shook his head hard. “Just take her home.”

The Doctor knelt, one knee to the ground as she leant in to brush a strand of hair back from (Y/N)’s forehead with an almost maternal tenderness. Despite himself, the Master was relieved that she cared, truly cared, for her companion. He had worried that maybe the timelord had just kept (Y/N) around for her remarkable intuition and curious empathic abilities. The fact that the very idea bothered him somehow bothered him even more. The Master didn’t _worry_ about humans. He _killed_ them. _Or saved them from a toxic planet and tended to their wounds and fed them and gave them blankets and danced with them and cradled them in his arms and stole flowers from their hair and-_

“You can’t mean to tell me that you actually _care_ for her?” The Doctor sounded horrified, repulsed. When she looked up at him from her unconscious companion, her face showed a confusing duality of disgust and shock, with a rogue thread of fear behind her eyes. “That you’ve grown _fond_ of her? Fond of a _human?_ ”

“Of course not.” The Master replied on autopilot. “I was just toying with her, humans are so pathetically easy to manipulate.”

He did believe it, what he said. His words held some truth, he _had_ just been toying with her initially, and he _might’ve_ been able to manipulate her if he had really put the effort in. Maybe the Doctor thought that he could’ve had a new Lucy Saxon at his side, if he had found the right pressure points, but he knew that (Y/N) wasn’t like that. She would bend rather than break; he had seen her in court after all, _she could capture a crowd with a well-aimed smile._

“And yet you bonded with her?” The Doctor’s query displayed a careful amount of disbelief as it broke through his errant thoughts.

He shrugged, noncommittal. “An occupational hazard. I’ll recover.”

“You’ll never see her again.” 

The Master was glad that he was already on his knees, _there was nowhere lower to sink to_. He nodded, lifted his head, and looked the Doctor in the eyes. He wore a carefully guarded expression, as if daring or expecting the Doctor to question him.

“I’m sure you’ll do your best.” He said, then added a musing so quiet that he could have denied having thought it at all.

_And so will I._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So consider this chapter as a nice break between the wildness of the last few chapters and whatever is kicking off next chapter. You've all earned it, so make the most of it whilst you can ;))


	18. Get a Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's sad boi hours for the Master, yikes.

**The Master**

(Y/N)’s body was as lifeless as a corpse.

The Master had shouldered the Doctor out of the way when she moved to shift her companion out of his hold. He said it was just because she wouldn’t be able to lift the girl, but really he couldn’t bear to see the Doctor’s hands on (Y/N) after what she had done to her. _At least you can hate her for wiping (Y/N)’s memory, rather than yourself_ , he thought privately, but deep down he knew that self-loathing would be his constant companion either way.

So he slid his arms underneath the unconscious companion and lifted her, cradling her to his chest as he straightened up. The red dust beneath his feet could’ve been the scarred earth of Orphan 55, so familiar was the weight of the girl in his arms as he recalled the first time he had done this. It seemed like years since his TARDIS had parked itself on that wretched planet and refused to budge until he had gone outside into the tepid air and spotted the human girl crumpled at his feet. In retrospect, he had known that something was wrong when he landed, so odd was the sick sensation that took over him. When he had seen (Y/N), injured, bleeding, close to death, he had felt something aside from satisfaction at having been proved right by the Doctor’s actions yet again, something aside from a dark glee at the idea of having a usable hostage. He had felt _accountable_. Obviously not for her wounded state, that was all the Doctor’s fault, but for her _life_. The weight of that sat atop his shoulders until he had scooped her up, fixed her, and laid her down safely. The weight of her life was so heavy that it made him breathless time and time again, like no other before her, and he supposed that it was a fearful burden to bear. Maybe he had known, even then, the terrible, wonderful effect she would have on him, the electrifying bond they would share, and the doom that it would bring to them both.

Ignoring the Doctor, and nearly kicking the TARDIS door shut in her face, the Master carried (Y/N) gently over to the chaise longue and placed her down. She looked so peaceful, and he found himself wishing that she would stay like that forever, existing somewhere outside of time, content and untroubled for eternity. She had been given a lifetime of grief by the Doctor and himself, but there was no one that he thought deserved it less.

“Aren’t you glad we went in my TARDIS?” The Master taunted weakly, still facing (Y/N)’s lifeless form. “She must be rather attached to this chaise longue by now.”

The Doctor didn’t even humour him with a sigh, voice level and controlled once more. “We only went in yours because mine refused to open the door to you.”

“You’re no fun.” He huffed with a well-rehearsed theatricality. When he turned around to face the Doctor, she was lingering in the doorway, glancing anxiously across to her sleeping companion but not daring to approach her. _She can’t care all that much for her darling companion if I am enough to scare her away,_ the Master thought, and nearly voiced aloud before he decided to hold his tongue.

“Was it really necessary to send me (Y/N)’s shirt, covered in her blood?” The Doctor suddenly blurted. _Oh, it seems someone else is struggling to hold their tongue._

He laughed, and kept laughing; that was the exact response he was hoping for from that little stunt. “Was it really necessary to leave said shirt, covered in blood, on a dying human on some faraway planet?”

The Doctor narrowed her hazel eyes at him, glaring at him as if trying to sear through his skin, _or else push through the mental shield they’d both put up to ward off the other._ “She’s unconscious. You can drop the act.”

“What act?” He replied in a smooth, low, steady voice. For a moment, _a glorious moment_ , the Master was deadly serious. He wanted to see the fear in the Doctor’s eyes, the delicious cocktail of disgust and uncertainty and betrayal as she contemplated the idea that maybe his real act had been pretending that he _didn’t_ care for (Y/N). He wanted to see how quickly she would succumb to the idea that her precious companion had been _taken care of_ by the Master, that everything the poor little human had said on Gallifrey was built on a foundation of genuine feeling and not just created by hypnotism, or coercion, or trauma like the Doctor had so _clearly_ hoped. He wanted to watch her denial implode.

But he wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

“You can’t just leave bloodied shirts laying around, it’s littering.” He quipped, still maintaining eye contact. “That's a class two galactic offence.”

The Doctor’s visible relief was immediate and tangible; the Master could see just how much she wanted to believe that the (Y/N) laying on the chaise longue behind her enemy was still the same (Y/N) she had left for dead on a planet so recently.

Despite her relief, the Doctor bit back. “Oh? And what’s kidnapping? Class four? Five?”

“I was always going to give her _back_.” The Master deadpanned, rolling his eyes. “She’s _unbelievably_ irritating.”

“Something you both have in common.”

“Oh, (Y/N) and I have a lot in common.” He admitted with a grin, pausing to raise his eyebrow before continuing. _“But that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?”_

The Doctor would not look him in the eye.

“Take us back to Earth, Master.” 

“As you wish, Doctor.”

“But-” 

The hesitance in her voice made him look up at her, and when he did he found her small and beaten. “Yes?”

“Let me have one last look at- at Gallifrey first.”

He couldn’t speak, so he just nodded.

\---

The Master watched the Doctor step outside and then proceeded to sit on the end of that damned chaise longue. With careful hands, he bandaged the wound on (Y/N)’s throat, recalling how it felt to have a blade clutched in his hand, holding her to him. _The thought of hurting her now made him cringe_. If he was a more absurd man, he might’ve fancied himself as (Y/N)’s silent guardian, her protector rather than her captor. The idea at least made him feel a little better as he observed her return to consciousness.

The human groaned as she stirred, her head tilting from side to side until her eyes fluttered open. The Master felt both of his hearts stutter at the sight.

She looked up at him with a thousand separate conflicts in her eyes.

“What-?” She tried to say, tried to sit up, but found herself still weary. _She’s been through quite the ordeal_ , the Master thought as he furrowed his brow and hushed her, moving closer to sit at her feet.

She coughed slightly, then wrinkled her nose. “What happened?”

“You passed out.” The Master replied immediately, so eager to hear her voice once more that he couldn’t slow himself. He wondered how much she remembered, how many moments the Doctor had stolen from her. Taking too much could be dangerous, and he selfishly hoped that she remembered more moments with him than she forgot.

He tried to keep his face blank as she furrowed her brow at him, gaze caught between confusion and alarm. Then, he watched, cringing, as she reached up to her throat, feeling the bandage that he’d just smoothed over her wound with trembling fingers. She winced, and him with her, as her fingertips brushed the cut.

“Where’s the Doctor?” She asked, apparently satisfied with her own vitals.

The Master fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Outside. She’s safe.”

“Are we on Gallifrey?”

“No, darling.” The Master lied, and instantly recognised with surprise that he hadn’t done a very convincing job. She was looking at him with a hurt expression, and he felt a wave of suspicion breach the empathic bond with an inimitable potency. He knew that she knew that he’d lied to her about where they were, and that he was lying to her constantly just by hiding the truth of why she’d passed out. How he longed to tell her everything, remove the Doctor’s memory alterations and watch (Y/N) burn with the light of a thousand suns in all her rage and fury.

But he couldn’t do that.

She was supposed to get back on the Doctor’s TARDIS and leave, he was supposed to never see her again. It was for the best. _For her, all for her._

So, ignoring the screaming voice in his head that begged him to steal the human girl away and never let her go, the Master leant forward and slipped his hands into (Y/N)’s hair. When he reached her temples, he felt her pulse against his fingertips, and then the pulse of the bond as (Y/N)’s drowsy shock seeped through.

“But-” She tried to shake him off, whimpering slightly in a way that made him bite at his lip to keep his resolve. 

He forced a false wave of calm through the bond, hoping that the fakery was sturdy enough to convince her just before she fell. As soon as the human in his arms had slipped back into unconsciousness, the Master took a shaky breath, hating himself and not-quite-hating the girl in front of him. 

“Go to sleep, (Y/N).” He pressed his lips to her forehead and then stood up, walking towards the TARDIS doors without ever looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're all safe, happy and healthy <333
> 
> It's back to the MC's POV next chapter, it's been a while...


	19. As if the Time Had Never Passed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This returns to the MC’s POV, so it will be from “your” POV again (second person POV) rather than the Master’s POV (third person POV).
> 
> Thank you guys for waiting for this update, I’ve had a bit of a hectic, all-over-the-place week. I’m confident that the next chapter won’t take this long <3

The familiar, low-level whirring of the Master’s TARDIS lulled you into wakefulness, and you immediately sat up, feeling oddly well-rested. You could recall having boarded the TARDIS, then having woken up from “passing out”, then the Master forcing you to sleep once more, but it was hazy. The last few hours were remarkably muddled, the more you thought about them, the blurrier they became, until your well-rested state dissolved and a headache began to threaten behind your eyes. Why couldn’t you remember passing out? And why had the Master seemed so unnaturally guilt-ridden when he told you that you had done so? None of it made any _sense_ and yet there was no logical reason as to _why_. 

The instant you groaned, both the Doctor and the Master rushed over. The Doctor stood at the end of the chaise longue, looking down at you with a little concerned frown; the Master leant over you, his expression was carefully constructed, mask-like, and it made you furrow your brow in response.

“You passed out, again.” Said the Doctor in a sympathetic tone, giving you a soft smile.

You looked up at the Master, confused, but he quickly shook his head and raised one finger the tiniest degree towards his lips. 

“I must be tired.” You excused, eyes still fixed on the Master. You were far from sure if your casual and unrelenting obedience to him was a blessing or a curse. Maybe it was neither, maybe it was both. _Maybe it was just a mistake_.

He smirked down at you. “I must’ve exhausted you, love.”

The Doctor made a moue of disgust, glancing with a cartoonish lack of subtlety between you and the Master. It was in that moment you realized that the Doctor had no _real_ idea of what had happened in the days you’d been away from her. There was no way for her to know what had occurred between you and the Master, if anything had occurred at all, and the thought thrilled you.

“We’re nearly home, then you can have all the rest you need.” The Doctor said curtly.

You nodded, then pressed a hand to your head as if faint once more. She gave you another weak, pitying smile and drifted off towards the doors, the Master simply rolled his eyes at you and strode away.

_Nearly home_.

Home. The word was strange to you now, it had so many meanings. Home was your hometown, where you lived when you weren’t travelling with the Doctor. Home was also the city you were educated in, and the city where your friends and family lived, and Earth as a whole, and the Doctor’s TARDIS. Maybe now that label extended, just a little, towards the Master’s TARDIS too. After all, home was somewhere that you felt satisfied, comfortable, _wanted_. Although you knew that you shouldn’t, that it was probably some unusual and alarming trauma response, you now associated home with both time machines, _and one had started to feel a little bit more exciting than the other_. After all, you’d still yet to find somewhere that felt like Home with a capital “H”.

The journey back to Lyme Regis was short and uneventful, making you resent the fact that you’d missed out on seeing Gallifrey. _Oh_ , how you would’ve loved to see those glittering trees and that burning sky, even if it was all in ruins. It was startling, almost, how well you could picture the planet in its decimated state, as if you actually _had_ seen it. You thought that whatever occurred on the planet itself must’ve been fairly serious, based off of the reactions of the two timelords. They were clearly furious with each other, as usual, but this time there was an element of unity, as though they knew something that everyone else in the universe would die to discover. What you couldn’t decipher, however, were their reactions to _you_. They were a little vague and detached and distracted. If you didn’t know them better, you’d almost think that they were _ignoring_ you.

You stood up from where you’d been sat, snuggled in that familiar blanket, and walked over to the Doctor at the doors. The Master had hardly looked up when you’d past the console.

“So, what have I missed?” You asked with a jovial buoyancy, trying to cover the tension that had arrived with the Doctor and the fam. 

She jumped a little, head whipping towards you. “Oh! Y/N, you surprised me!”

“Ah, sorry Doctor.” You apologised, and heard the Master snigger at your awkwardness. _Bastard_.

“No, no, it’s alright.” The Doctor gave you a bright smile. “You really haven’t missed much, honestly, it’s been dull without you.”

You smiled in response, grateful for the Doctor’s easy kindness. “And how is Graham? How are Yaz and Ryan?”

“They’re all fine, just fine. We went for a trip to Woman Wept, and then to Copenhagen in the 17th century, and then-”

You tuned out. You knew that the Doctor was trying to distract you, trying to make conversation, trying to reassure you that she and the fam had been alright, but you couldn’t help but feel a little hurt. Yes, you were glad that they had been happy and (mostly) safe, but you hadn’t expected them all to move on so fast. You hadn’t been “dead” long, a few weeks maybe, a month at most; was it selfish of you to hope that they grieved? It seems you were just another body in a long line of dead companions, and the thought of the fam off sightseeing whilst you were bleeding on the floor of the Master’s TARDIS made you nauseous. It also made you _angry_. Had your life really meant so little to them that they could forget you in a month? You looked over your shoulder briefly as the Doctor babbled on, just a glance, and found the Master’s blazing eyes on yours. In that moment you felt sure that he knew _everything_ that was going on in your head, and that he _agreed with you_. You were certain of it.

“Y/N?” The Doctor calling your name made you aware of how blatantly you’d been staring, and you looked back at her before she could follow your eyeline. “Sorry, was I rambling again, you know what I’m like when I get started-”

“Doctor, can I ask you something?” Your interruption lacked tact, but it had the desired effect.

She shook herself, then tilted her head, watching you carefully even if her tone was casual. “Of course.”

“What happened on Gallifrey?” You pressed. “And why can’t I remember passing out?”

“Ah well, passing out can have that effect, you can sometimes forget little bits and pieces, you remember entering the TARDIS, don’t you?” 

“Yes, I think so.”

“Then you haven’t missed much.”

She gave you another sunny smile, a squeeze to your arm, and then opened the doors. You hadn’t even noticed that the TARDIS had landed. You’d been too busy noticing that the Doctor had entirely avoided your first question. As usual, anything that skirted too close to her past, she dodged, and didn’t even try to disguise her evasiveness. By the time you’d thought to press her further, to demand an answer, she was already outside in the graveyard, walking towards the fam. _She clearly trusted the Master to just let you go, then_. You watched the four of them from the doorway, feeling more like an outsider than you ever had, and thought about how much you’d missed them, how much you’d always felt like a spare part in a smooth-running machine. You had never needed them, not really, and they had never needed you, not really, and now it was all obvious and out in the open and you wished with all your heart that things would just go back to the way they were. But the real question, the one that had been turning over and over in your mind like an hourglass, was all because of _who_ had saved you from a convenient death; _would they trust you anymore?_

Stuck in your reverie, biting at your nails as you prepared to go and take back your previous mantle, you failed to notice the Master sidling up behind you.

“Go on, love, go join her other pets.” He teased, lips so close to your ear that you struggled to stifle your gasp.

“You play the role so well, after all.” He chuckled at your reaction and moved to stand at your side, leaning on the doorframe, looking out at the Doctor as she reunited with her companions.

“You’re so like _her_ , like _all of them_.” The Master muttered, voice so low it was almost unintelligible. “And yet I know you don’t fit in with them, you never have and you never will.”

You didn’t dare to reply to him, scared of what you’d say if you looked him in the eye and opened your mouth. _Let him think what he will_.

He continued as if your silence mattered not in the slightest. “You were right. I am going to be bored when you’re gone.”

At this, you glanced at him with narrowed eyes and a satisfied smirk, but he just shrugged and pushed off from the doorframe so that he was looming over you. 

“And, I think, so are you.” He said with a smug, challenging glint in his eye.

“Maybe you’re right.” You replied in the most maddeningly benign tone you could manage before you cast a look towards where the Doctor and the fam were deep in discussion. “But maybe you’re wrong, too.”

You shifted away from him to step out of his TARDIS, but the Master grabbed your wrist and held it fast.

The sudden intensity in his voice when he spoke drew your attention instantly. “Just- just remember what I told you.”

You gazed up at him, curious, desperate, hopeful.

“The Doctor lies.” Said the Master.

You exhaled heavily and ducked your head, but his grip on your arm tightened until you met his eyes again. They were dark, as ever, and burning with a strange and manic light, filled with pain and purpose. “Promise me you’ll remember.”

“I promise, Master.” The words slipped from your lips as easily as breathing in the face of such blazing insistence.

He sighed, relieved, all the tension dropping from his shoulders as his eyes slid closed. When he opened them again, composure reigned once more. He released your wrist with a smirk. “Good girl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's going to be an interesting goodbye.


	20. Walk Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Master says goodbye.

If you had thought that that was it, that he’d just _let you go_ , you were _so_ wrong. But that was certainly how it seemed, that day, as you left in the Doctor’s TARDIS and he left in his. You could have almost fooled yourself into believing that you’d never see him again. Almost, but not quite.

He followed you outside into the graveyard of St Michael the Archangel Church, the pair of you stepping around gravestones with alarming synchroneity as you made your way towards the Doctor. Your heart was pounding, it felt like a lifetime since you’d last seen the fam, and so much had changed that you had no idea how they’d react to you. Things couldn’t just go back to normal, they _couldn't_. You found that you didn't want them to. The idea that this would be it, that you’d be handed back across to the Doctor like some borrowed trinket, and then you’d be off gallivanting around the universe, all _pleasant_ and _sanitised_ and _bored_ , made you feel weary to your very bones. You looked ahead at the fam, who were smiling a little cautiously at you, then cast a glance back over your shoulder at the Master, who raised his eyebrows in challenge. It was horrifying to acknowledge which response you preferred. 

As soon as you reached the other companions, you noticed the Master hanging back, a cold expression clouding his features once more. The sight was unfamiliar to you now, and was so fierce that it almost made you stumble.

“Y/N!” Ryan exclaimed, rushing towards you to wrap you in a quick, but warm, hug.

Yaz was next, pushing Ryan out the way as she flung her arms around you. “Are you alright?”

“We’re so glad you’re safe!” Graham said when Yaz had finally let you go. Steady, smiling Graham who always had a word of comfort or a funny quip to brighten your day. How you’d _missed_ them.

When dazzled by the Master, it was so easy to forget the simple comfort of your friendships with the Doctor’s other companions. You would be lying if you said that they were your family, that they knew you better than you knew yourself etcetera, etcetera, but it would be equally dishonest to say that they weren’t some of your closest friends. Your relationship with them didn’t run deep, without the Doctor you’d be no more than a casual acquaintance to the three of them, but together you’d been through so much. They never challenged you, rarely argued with you, and hardly ever left you speechless in the way the Master did. But that was the beauty of the fam, they were easy and comfortable and familiar. _Which is just what I need right now_ , you told yourself, but failed to convince yourself that you meant it.

“Ah c’mon you lot, into the TARDIS and I’ll take you somewhere fun for tea.” The Doctor encouraged fondly, herding the four of you towards the TARDIS doors. You felt an acute panic all of a sudden, flustered at the thought of being ushered away without a farewell.

The Doctor turned to glance at the Master, and so did you.

“Head inside, Y/N, I’ll be right behind you.” She said, voice unexpectedly blunt.

You didn’t move. “I want to- can I say goodbye?”

The Doctor tilted her head, examining you, and you could’ve sworn that you saw something unnerving in her gaze. Something unwelcome. But when she spoke this time, her voice was soft, with the kind of quality to it that you might use to calm a frightened animal. 

“You’d better not.”

“Doctor, I just want to say goodbye.” You told her. _One lie_. “So I can get closure, you know?” _Two lies_.

She sighed, glancing at the Master. “Two minutes.”

“Thank you.” You replied, and meant it, taking her hand for a moment. Your gratefulness had the opposite effect to what you’d hoped, the Doctor looked all the more uncomfortable. But, true to her word, she stood aside and let you approach her enemy.

When you had gotten close enough, the Master smirked, ducking his head to speak to you directly. “Well, well, “traitor” is not a good look on you, love.”

““Traitor?”” The repetition left your lips before you could call it back.

He smiled without showing his teeth. ““Can I - can I say goodbye?””

You recoiled at the crassness of his impersonation, the malice in his parody of your voice. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’ll do whatever I like.” 

“Why are you-?”

He took half a step closer and gritted his teeth. “Because she is watching us, I’m doing you a _favour_ , you don’t want to look as though you’re on the _wrong side_ , do you?”

You stopped yourself from stepping backwards, _or forwards_. “Sides? Who said _anything_ about sides, I’m not-”

“Shut up.”

“No, I won’t, I wanted to thank you for saving my life and now you’re-”

“Shut. Up.” The Master raised his eyes only, looking over your shoulder with covert nonchalance. “This is not worth the consequences. Now go and pretend that you hate me.”

“Master-”

“Do it.” It was a command, you knew it was a command, and yet you couldn’t help the way your stomach flipped at the implicit threat in his words, at the low timbre of his voice.

You caught yourself before you could turn and walk away. Although you could feel the Doctor’s eyes on you, her intense curiosity burning a guilty hole through the back of your head, it felt impossible to just comply with _either_ of them.

“Am I ever going to see you again?” You asked, calm and careless. Whatever he may think of you for asking, you had to know his answer.

He laughed, _as expected_. “So _dramatic_. Why does it matter?”

“Just tell me, give me a warning, see it as a threat if it makes you feel bet-”

“Yes.” He said, simply and without grandeur. “Now go on and be her pretty little pet, play your role.”

You nodded, turned, raised your hand in a little wave. This was it, for now.

“And I’ll play mine.” You heard him murmur, already turning away towards his TARDIS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well, I wonder how quickly MC is going to get bored of the Doctor's TARDIS.  
> Place your bets, lads.


	21. Break

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, things start to get _weird_.

You entered the TARDIS, you hugged Ryan, Yaz, Graham, you hugged the Doctor, and then you stood awkwardly in the console room with the four of them. No one seemed to know what to say to you, how could they when they had no idea what you’d been through? They had thought that you were dead, and then learned that you were being held hostage by the Doctor’s worst enemy, a fate which the timelord herself had probably implied was _worse_ than death. None of them knew about you and the Master at Barton’s party, none of them knew about you and the Master at Queen Victoria’s coronation ball, and none of them could even begin to imagine life alongside him in his TARDIS. If you had thought before that they didn’t understand you, you were now absolutely sure of it. This realisation did not sit lightly on your already heavy shoulders.

“So, 1980s Sheffield for dinner?” The Doctor prompted brightly, darting about the console. Her smile was contagious, with the rest of the fam assenting as she weaved around them, pressing buttons. You were… not so engaged.

“Hey, Doctor, that sounds great but, ah, I’m really quite tired.” You excused with an attempt at a smile. “It’s been a… weird day.”

The already-tense atmosphere in the console room tightened, it felt like being in an open trap the moment before it snaps shut.

“You guys go and enjoy yourselves, I’m okay, I just need some sleep.” _And some time alone_.

The fam looked from you to the Doctor.

“Of course.” She said with a tight smile. “We understand.”

_No, you don’t._

You felt so dramatic, pathetic, isolated, but you nodded and quietly walked towards the corridor that led to your bedroom, sensing the worried stares of your friends follow you. The route was longer than you remembered, and the TARDIS corridor was colder than you expected. When you reached your room, your hand lingered on the door handle, the odd numbness that you felt made you wonder if you’d even gotten the right door. You took a breath, and pushed it open to find your bedroom exactly how you’d left it. There were various photos and trinkets scattered about the minimal furniture, a neat little queen-sized bed, a pile of books, a desk lamp, a few clothes half-falling out one drawer of your cabinet. It was familiar, comforting in a way, but the thin layer of dust that coated the scene soured your view, and the stagnant, musty smell reminded you just how far away you had been. You stepped inside, conscious that you were lingering in your own doorway. 

Then, your world collapsed inwards.

There was a brief jolt as the TARDIS shifted, presumably leaving the graveyard, and then a mind-shattering wrench of pain. It felt as though your heart was being ripped upwards out of your throat. Your stomach dropped, and you hugged your arms tightly around your middle to stop yourself from throwing up or crying out. Black spots swirled and gathered at the edges of your vision, and you became suddenly aware of an _otherness_ to your pain. There were flashes of clarity in your agony, and when you squeezed your eyes shut it was as though they were open elsewhere, in another TARDIS, the _Master’s_ TARDIS. _You could_ feel _him_. His presence shocked you almost as much as the pain itself had, he was parallel to you in this, you were sure. 

Just when you were about to pass out, the TARDIS stabilised as it entered the time vortex, and your agony came to an abrupt end. Quiet enveloped you, a brief second of complete relief. You were fine, physically, you discovered as you patted yourself down, panting, sweating, kneeling on the floor where your legs had given out. _What was that?_ You knew, somewhere inside you, shaken though you were, that it had something to do with the Master. It was just like earlier, when you’d woken up on the chaise longue, when you _knew_ that he was lying to you even without him telling you so. You’d always had an uncanny knack for reading people, but this was _more_ than that, this went _deeper_ , deeper with _him_ of all people. 

You didn’t go out and find the Doctor, though you were sure that she would’ve known something about what had just happened to you. With a guilty start you realized that after the incidences of the past few days you didn't quite trust her in the way that you had before. So you just hauled yourself up from the floor, took a step towards the bed, kicked your shoes off your feet, and collapsed onto your duvet. Five minutes of exhausted, exasperated sobbing later, and you were out cold.

\---

**The Master**

_What was that? What was that? What was that?_

He was shaking, still, ten minutes after the ordeal had ended, unable to stop himself. He had been lingering in the doorway of his TARDIS for a while after the Doctor herded her pets away, just watching, too passive to bother moving, but the moment that her TARDIS had taken off he had collapsed in agony. It had felt as though every nerve in his body had been set aflame. It had been a distinct struggle, but he had been able to haul himself inside and set the coordinates to _anywhere_ before falling gracelessly onto the chaise longue. _It still smelt like her_ , he had mused in delirium as waves of pain wracked his body, nose buried in the dark green blanket he had been using for his little captive. Then, at the thought of her, he had felt a slipping sensation down his spine, as if he were being sliced in two with a knife so sharp that it didn’t even hurt. _Or didn’t hurt more than what was already happening to him_. He clenched his eyes shut tight, bracing for another ripple of agony, and it was as though he were looking out onto another universe completely, some parallel where he was in a shoddy little bedroom, on his knees, panting, groaning in a voice that was familiar, but _wasn’t his_.

He murmured her name through gritted teeth, consciousness pulling and ebbing as he tried to stand. He could feel _her_ at his side, as if she’d never left, as if she wasn’t being torn away from him across the galaxy.

_It was the bond_.

It had to be their bond, straining, snapping, lashing out like a frightened animal as they stretched it across all of time and space. The wound of its creation was still fresh, raw, and the distance between them now only served to tear it open wider. But it would fade now, now that they’d gotten over the initial separation, but along with the end of the pain came the sense of loss, the gaping void that nothing could fill. _And she won’t even remember why she feels so empty_.

That is what haunted the Master, as he closed his eyes, still tangled up in the blanket where he had fallen, _she won’t even remember why it hurts_.


	22. Pedal to the Metal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha... so... tensions are running high in the TARDIS kitchen.  
>  ~~And all poor MC wanted was her goddamn coffee.~~
> 
> As always, thank you all, you lovely lot, for the comments and the kudos. It really does mean the world <333

You woke up feeling strangely light; it was uncomfortable from the start. You were like Atlas without the world upon your shoulders, unbalanced, unsteady, and deeply, deeply unnerved. It was as though you’d forgotten your name when asked for it, or your shoes as you stepped outdoors, or your age whilst blowing out birthday candles. Something monumental had disappeared, and for the life of you, you could not tell, and did not seem to care, what it was.

_Today is going to be a walking headache, huh?_

You got up, washed, dressed, brushed your teeth, all in a robotic sort of haze, still half-dreaming that you were in the Master’s TARDIS. Then, you made your way to the kitchen, hoping for a few more moments of peace.

It wasn’t to be.

When you got there, Yaz and Ryan were deep in conversation, trading words in uncharacteristically hushed voices over their mugs of tea. Upon your entrance, they looked up and grew even quieter.

“Good morning, guys.” You said with a little wave. 

Both of them greeted you with smiles that looked a little tight, but then again, you were still blinking the sleep from your eyes. You all stared at each other like children meeting for the first time, and the awkwardness was enough for you to turn and start busying yourself with the cafetiere. They went back to a conversation, voices much lighter than before, and you told yourself to stop being so _weird_ with them. You hadn’t been away for _that_ long, after all, even if it had felt like years to you. Absent-minded, you opened the nearest cupboard, reaching in with the expectation of grabbing a bag of coffee. You did not, in fact, grab a bag of coffee, instead closing your fist around a vintage commemorative tea towel from the year 1981.

Your little harumph of confusion must have attracted the attention of Yaz and Ryan. _Excellent, now you had an audience to your idiocy_.

“What’s that?” Asked Ryan as you looked over your shoulder at him.

“I have no idea, I wanted the coffee.”

Yaz furrowed her brow. “It's… in the cupboard to your left.”

“Oh.” You mirrored her expression. “Why did you guys move it?”

The pair of them shared a look, which would’ve been comical if they didn’t look so unnerved.

“We didn’t.” Ryan said slowly. “It’s always been in that cupboard.”

“Yeah, it's always in the third to the left, not the second.” Yaz added with a tentative attempt at a smile.

“Has it? Oh, it must be in the third in-”

Your stomach dropped, and you leant heavily on the counter behind you, tea towel clutched in your paled fist.

“What?”

“In the Master’s TARDIS.” You shrugged it off, tried for nonchalance even after your visible distress as you turned back to the cupboards. This time, you opened the right one, but the damage had already been done. They were silent behind you, but their curiosity was almost audible. 

You finished making your coffee, wrapping your fingers around the mug to warm them as you turned to face your friends. You could feel your fingertips burning just slightly, but the sensation grounded you.

“So.” You began, watching the pair of them watch you.

“So.” Repeated Yaz.

“Go on, I know you must be curious, so ask away.” You said, then took a sip from your coffee.

“We don’t want to pry…” Excused Ryan, glancing across at Yaz, both of them wide-eyed.

“Yes you do, and I don’t mind, really.” You shrugged, minding very much.

Yaz was about to speak, clearly enticed by your passivity, but Ryan sent her another covert look. “You’re sure?”

“Yes. It’s better to have it all out in the open anyway, isn’t it?” You nodded your head decisively.

“I suppose it is.” Ryan murmured.

Yaz seemed bold until the moment she opened her mouth, then, she stumbled. “Did he- was he- did he treat you badly?”

You tried not to bristle at the question, you had asked for this after all, even if it was somewhat begrudgingly. “No, he treated me well, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“He snapped at me a few times, he has… a short fuse.” You found yourself wanting to make excuses for him, but you avoided it. But you also avoided telling Yaz and Ryan about when he’d held you by the throat, that needed a hefty dose of context that you weren’t quite ready to spare.

Ryan looked unconvinced, eyes round and soft. “When we saw him at the graveyard, he nearly killed you.”

Should you play the victim? Would that restore some of the balance you’d had here, if you told them what you knew they wanted to hear?

“He wouldn’t have done it, he just needed the Doctor’s attention.” You replied before you could further consider any more inauthenticity. 

“How could you know that?” Yaz sounded accusatory. “He tried to kill us before.”

“I guess I don’t know it for certain, but when I was on his TARDIS, he treated me with dignity, respect even.”

“Y/N…”

“He hasn’t hypnotised me.”

“He’s a monster, even the Doctor says so.”

“The Doctor has been wrong before.” Your voice was firm, uncompromising. “I don’t think anybody is beyond redemption.”

Yaz shook her head at you, clutching her empty mug tightly to her chest as if it might ward you off. “What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that the Doctor has never told us the whole truth.” It came out in a sigh, a wearied, experienced thing. “The Master answered a lot of my questions without hiding or being evasive.”

“And you think you can _trust him_ to be _honest with you?_ ”

“He had no reason not to be.”

“Uh, Y/N, he had _every_ reason. You’re his _enemy_.” Ryan spoke up once more. He had been watching you and Yaz with reserve as the conversation grew impassioned, always perceptive, but he had clearly chosen his side.

At the sound of his voice, you startled, considering his words, the _choice_ of his words. “I don’t think I am his enemy. Not anymore.”

Yaz was unable to bite back her scoff of disbelief. “So you’re basing all this off of, what? A guess?”

“An instinct, I don’t know-” It was impossible not to want to defend yourself, _and the Master_ , when both Yaz and Ryan were staring at you as if you had just crawled out of the grave and started trying to drag them back to hell with you.

“I promise there’s more to him than what we saw, just like there is more to the Doctor, _way_ more-”

“Y/N, stop, it sounds like he is just speaking out of your mouth.”

At your sudden irritation, Ryan held up his hands to both you and Yaz. “It’s natural, right? This kind of reaction, it’s- it’s like Stockholm Syndrome?”

“No, this isn’t like that, it’s not what you think-” You shook your head, desperate for them to listen to you. It reminded you distantly of another time, another place, when you had been begging…. No, when someone had been begging _you_ … the Doctor’s voice fervent in your ears… _the Master’s voice too_ , he had wanted you to- to-

“Say it!” Yaz snapped. ”Why are you trying to defend him? What did he _do_ to you?”

“Nothing! Yaz, honest-”

Whatever distant thing you had been trying to recall faded just as quickly as it had appeared, and you were left present in the TARDIS kitchen, facing two of your friends as they gaped at you with horror on their faces.

“Y/N, you gotta know how this looks to us.” Ryan said gently, and you felt your heart ache. _They won’t ever understand_.

_I know you don’t fit in with them, you never have and you never will_. The Master’s words spun themselves a new web, and you struggled to ignore the image of him that they conjured in your head.

You closed your eyes, inhaled, then fixed your friends with what you hoped was a look worth their effort to decipher. “I do, it’s just, why won’t you _trust_ me?”

The following silence engulfed you whole. You felt like you were drowning, like you had when that fit of pain had overtaken you just the day before, like you were grasping at an edge made of polished marble, cool, smooth, unforgiving to your fall.

“You don’t, do you? Neither of you trust me.” The realisation was voiced as it was made. You had _suspected_ that your time away would change things, but the confirmation left you breathless.

“Y/N, we-”

“No, no it’s ok.” You lied. “This is all going to need time. I know that.”

Yaz had softened, her anger evening out, levelling until it slipped aside. “You have to understand what it was like for us, we thought that you were _dead_ , and then we thought that _he’d_ killed you, and then-”

“And then I came back and made a mess. I get it.” You couldn’t stop the cool edge of anger that tightened your voice. “This must’ve been hard for you both. I get it.”

You tried to smile at them, at least meet their eyes, but it was so _hard_ when you thought about how easy it all used to be. The simplicity of your past with them only served to complicate the chance of a future; there had never been enough depth in it to withstand something as monumental as this. Your friendship with Yaz and Ryan had been like a boat in shallow waters, when the weather was fine, the sailing was smooth, but when the wind turned, the hull was torn apart on the rocks.

“ _You_ didn’t make this mess, _he_ did.” You weren’t sure which of them spoke, though the sound should’ve been so distinct. You were already halfway to the door, coffee abandoned on the countertop along with what was left of the lightness you’d woken with.

You paused in the doorway and turned back to Yaz and Ryan, hunched, shell-shocked, over the table. “I think we all have had a part to play in this, whether we choose to acknowledge it or not.”

_And the curtain hasn't fallen yet_.


	23. Heatstroke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome to "the author geeks out about Ancient Rome".  
> I am shameless.

_“What are you reading?”_

_It was just one of many nights you’d spent aboard the Master’s TARDIS, and again he found you tucked up in his library with a good book._

_“It’s about espionage through the ages.” You told him, still caught up in the page you were on. “Did you know that Ancient Rome had a secret service? The frumentarii were originally collectors of wheat but they were employed as a large-scale organisation by Hadrian!”_

_The Master chuckled, of_ course _he knew. “Well, Roman espionage far predates that, if you count the plot to kill Julius Caesar as true espionage.”_

_“And I do! I’m very interested in Caesar and the Roman Empire.” You replied, nodding vigorously._

_“How… apt.” The Master said, and at once you furrowed your brow. “Come here, love.”_

_You did as you were told._

_The Master led you over to one of the oil lamps burning atop the large central table, pushing piles of books away to pull the lantern closer. It was then that you realized that he was holding something tightly, a letter with a broken wax seal._

_“What’s that?”_

_“Just some paperwork from the 16th century. It doesn’t concern you, sweetheart.”_

_He opened the letter, and your eyes scanned the half-page of text eagerly._

_“But it’s just… holiday greetings?” You queried, dumbfounded and more than a little disappointed._

_“So it would appear, no?” The gleam in his eye made you perk back up. “Watch.”_

_And watch you did, as he held the parchment directly above the glass of the oil lamp. After a minute or two, words began to appear at the bottom of the letter, new words, ones awakened by the glow of the lamp below them._

_“Lemon juice and heat, a perfect chemical reaction.” The Master boasted with a grin. “So Beware the Ides of March, love, for nothing is ever as it seems.”_

\---

Another day, another coffee, another thoroughly awkward encounter with Yaz and Ryan in the TARDIS kitchen. At least they spoke to you less now, you’d rather that than have them argue with you constantly. Even Graham could tell that something had shifted between the three of you since the morning it had all gone sour. You stretched your arms wide and sighed, leaning against the railings in the console room and trying to make yourself appear as non-threatening as possible as you lazily dwelt in your dream from the night before. It had been so pleasant to be back in the Master’s library, even only in memory.

The Doctor was bouncing around the console, acting oblivious to the tension around her. “Who wants to go to Ancient Rome?” 

You stiffened. _What an uncomfortable coincidence_.

At the Doctor’s suggestion, Ryan had instantly brightened up, flashing his winning smile. “Brilliant! I’ve always wanted to visit Italy!”

He high-fived Yaz, who then rolled her eyes fondly. It made you wish you’d played your part a little better, pretended to be a victim like the Master had said, just so that you didn’t miss the warmth of their friendship. It was naive of you to think that you could ever be the bridge between him and the fam. Naive and presumptuous. Sometimes your hubris surprised even you.

“No funny business, right Doc?” Graham spoke up, watching his grandson’s celebrations.

The Doctor pressed a few buttons, pretended not to hear him. “What’s that Graham?”

“I mean, this is just a casual visit, isn’t it?”

“Of course!” The Doctor’s light tone almost made you believe her. “I thought you all deserved a nice trip after such a… busy week.”

You raised your eyebrows, but said nothing.

Yaz tilted her head. “And-?”

The Doctor fixed her with a look. “And I just want to make some enquiries whilst you lot explore the city.”

“What enquiries?” Ryan asked, his festive mood dimming a little.

“Nothing of importance.”

“Doctor.”

You weren’t sure if any of the others noticed the flash of irritation in the Doctor’s eyes, the twitch of her lip before she spoke. “There’s been some… disturbances early in 44BC, just minor things, I might as well check.”

“Could it be to do with the Master?” You asked, entirely, unfailingly nonchalant.

The look she fixed you with was so far from the one she’d shared with Yaz, it was, for want of a better word, disconcerting. 

“I don’t know.” She replied, lying.

\----

Ancient Rome was as beautiful as you had imagined it would be, and you _had_ imagined it, time and time again. It was everything you had expected and more, a vast, lively, rich city overflowing with its own self-importance. The Doctor ushered you and the fam out of the TARDIS, all appropriately draped in linen, all squinting in the harsh winter sunlight.

“No go have fun, I'll meet you back at this spot in two hours.” The Doctor announced, gesturing about at the busy streets before she darted off down one of them.

“This again?” Asked Yaz, frowning after the Doctor.

“Again?” You repeated, too curious to ignore the irritation in Yaz’s voice.

“She does this now, the Doctor, since you… left.” Yaz explained, unhelpfully.

You looked towards Ryan, then Graham, and found both unwilling to meet your eye. _Yaz it is, then_.

“What do you mean?”

Yaz huffed. “She just drops us off somewhere and then disappears for a few hours, sometimes she leaves us at home, sometimes she takes us somewhere for a “nice trip”.”

You nodded at her, but kept your mouth shut, refusing to address the unspoken prompt in Yaz’s lingering tone so that someone else had to.

“We think she’s looking for the Master.” Ryan confirmed, taking the bait.

“I thought it would stop after, well, after you got back Y/N.” Graham revealed with a rueful smile, reaching out to put his hand on your arm.

_They had thought she was looking for me as well_ , you thought, and then tried to hide your cynical amusement at the idea, she was the one who left you to die after all. She never even went back for your body.

“He’s a dangerous man, it makes sense for her to want to keep tabs on him.” You shrugged.

“He’s not even a man, he’s-”

“Oooh look! A chariot!” You cut Yaz off eagerly, but the excitement in your tone was real. You were quickly learning that Yaz’s hatred of the Master was overzealous, an extension of the Doctor’s, and that you couldn’t expect Ryan or Graham to challenge that. It was safer if he was not referred to at all, if he was altogether forgotten when you were with them. _But why was that so hard?_

-

You’d been exploring the streets for over an hour when you started to feel nauseous. Perhaps it was the brightness of that glaring winter sun, or else the closeness of the crowd. There was a sick tugging sensation in your chest, as if someone had tied a line around your heart and was now reeling it in, it made it hard to breathe.

“You alright, Y/N?” Asked Ryan, glancing sideways at you.

“Yeah, you look pale.” Added Graham with a concerned little frown as you struggled not to stumble. “Let’s get you back to the TARDIS.”

You swallowed and tried for a smile. “No, no, I’m alright, just felt a little faint for a moment.”

Yaz sighed, then looked at you, her eyes softening. “We can go back if you want.”

“It’ll pass.” You replied with a shake of your head. You were _supposed_ to be playing the role of careless, frivolous little companion, enjoying your trips out, happy to be back with your friends, not fainting in the streets of Ancient Rome at his mere _presence_.

_He was here_. You stifled your gasp in the back of your hand, passing it off as a yawn. The fam seemed assured, perhaps assuming that you were just tired, and all turned back to continue walking. Whilst their gazes shifted from market stall to market stall, yours darted from one shaded alcove to another, searching out that familiar dark head of hair, those tormented, glittering eyes. He had to be here, you could _feel_ it, but where? And _why?_

A sudden delicious thrill ran through you at the suggestion that he might be here for _you_ , and yet giddy as it made you, you refused to let yourself believe it. Instead, you kept looking, softening the sharpness of your gaze every time Graham gave you a checkover.

The fam all congregated around some market stall selling bejewelled trinkets, but you hung back, clinging to the shade at the edge of the street, eyes still wandering the crowds. You were so intent on spotting him that when a small hand tugged on the folds of your tunic, you nearly jumped out of your skin.

“I’m sorry, miss, I didn't mean to startle you.” Babbled the small boy who had run up to your side. He was a rather scruffy little thing, well-clothed but with scuffed knees and messy hair, a typical six or seven-year-old.

“No, er, it’s alright.” You replied, trusting that you were speaking perfect Latin. 

He looked up at you with big, solemn eyes. “A man told me to give you this.”

The boy held out a small roll of papyrus, bound with a thin piece of leather under which a posy of lilac flowers were tied. You took it gingerly, examining the fine, creamy material and slipping your fingers under the leather strip.

“What did the man look like? Did he-” You began, but then looked up to realize that the boy had gone. Disappeared without a trace. Unnerved yet more, you unrolled the papyrus, clutching the flowers in one hand as you read the few words written in dark red ink.

_“Beware the Ides of March.  
-M”_

_You were right, he was_ here. You pressed the back of your hand firm against your mouth so that you would not cry out and tried to steady yourself against the wall. It was only after you’d taken a few deep breaths, eyes screwed shut, that you could bear to look at the message again, _and the flowers that had accompanied it_.

Now, you really _did_ have to stop yourself from throwing up.

The little lilac posy was made entirely of milkvetch flowers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if the Master kept that milkvetch flower from the night of the coronation ball....


	24. Looking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting so patiently for this update <333  
> I've had a hectic, overwhelming, mixed-bag of a week. Good and bad, so don't worry, it's just left me a little drained.
> 
> This is more of a set-up chapter for what's about to go down, enjoy!

_Three Weeks Later_

You didn’t think that you could take much more of this.

Three weeks and you had barely been alone except to sleep and bathe. It was _suffocating_.

Obviously, the first thing you had done when you had gotten back to your bedroom after Rome was inspect the papyrus thoroughly. This included holding it over your dim bedside lamp until your hand cramped up and grew clammy. _And with no results to show for it_.

There were similar oil lamps in the Doctor’s library to the ones you had observed in the Master’s, and perhaps there were other rooms with fireplaces and the like, but you did not know of them. You also were _never_ alone in the TARDIS, with one of the fam as your shadow at all times. The Doctor might as well have just told you to your face that she didn't trust you, it would've hurt you less.

So the papyrus sat on your bedside table, it was slid inside a book should the Doctor get brazen enough to go snooping. Anytime you left the TARDIS you took it with you in the hopes you’d find something to activate the presumed invisible ink. It was what kept you going when you thought about just how hard your current predicament was. It was a comfort to you to know that there were words from him that you hadn’t read yet, a message you hadn’t heard, a plan he hadn’t told you. It kept him present within you.

-

“And I have to wear a suit because?” Asked Ryan, fiddling with the cuffs of his blazer as he looked at himself in one of the many mirrors dotted about the TARDIS wardrobe. The whole fam were getting dressed up for a big event, and as usual, the chosen formalwear was controversial. You rather liked your dress, it was in a simple but well-tailored cut, and the embroidered constellations reminded you of the many you had seen during your travels. The others didn’t seem so thrilled by the flashiness of it all.

“I've told you, this isn’t any ordinary party, it’s a ball for the wealthiest business-people of the five galaxies alliance.” The Doctor replied with a friendly little laugh. “We have to look the part.”

Graham smiled over at his grandson. “I think you look smashing, Ryan.” 

You echoed agreement, as did Yaz; Graham was right, after all.

“Why are we even going, Doctor? Be honest.” Yaz pressed, gliding around in her elegant jumpsuit, her gold earrings glimmering with reflected light.

“We don’t usually do this kind of thing.” You added. “What’s new?”

“What’s new is that my worst enemy is out and about in the universe somewhere.” The Doctor said, and though her tone was casual, her expression was tight. You instantly wished that you hadn’t spoken.

“So we… party?” Graham asked, surprised.

“Where do you go if you’re looking for an unpredictable, narcissistic egomaniac with too much power and a desperate need to exhibit it?” The Doctor prompted drily. 

“The White House?” Ryan asked with a roll of his eyes; Graham coughed to cover a laugh, as did you, but with less success.

The Doctor conceded, chuckling, before reassessing her point. “An intergalactical business conference, of course.”

“So this is all about him again, great.” Yaz huffed, the Doctor immediately coming over to her side.

“No, you guys will go off and mingle, have fun.” The Doctor assured her. “I’ll look for the Master.”

“Alone?” You queried.

Ryan, Yaz and the Doctor all looked at you, and you felt yourself freeze a little under the intensity of their stares.

“Yes. Alone.” The Doctor stated. “I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”

You nodded, but inwardly you were thinking of the Master’s hands on you as he had cleaned your wound, choked you, resewn your stitches, held a knife to your throat. _She has a point, I guess_ , you thought, unhappily. _He can cause pain as easily as cure it_.

-

_Thank goodness this dress has pockets_ , you decided as you stepped out of the TARDIS and into a dimly lit alcove, _else I would’ve had to stick the papyrus in my bra. Yikes_.

The conference (which was more of a party, really) was being held on a huge starliner, the Starship 130613, one of the largest and most expensive ships ever made. Or so the Doctor had told you. With some intentions towards subtlety, the Doctor had landed the TARDIS in a maintenance corridor, meaning that you all had to cram into a service lift to reach the upper deck. This resulted in much pushing and foot-stomping, so by the time you’d reached the grand hall, you had to rearrange your disgruntled expression. This was going to be a _long_ night.

The Doctor flashed her psychic paper to the bouncers on either side of the door, before you were ushered into the most extravagant ballroom that you had ever seen. It was at least three stories high, _maybe four or five_ , and the furthest wall was entirely constructed of panelled glass that looked out onto a glistening blue-green nebula. Chandeliers, hung with some foreign space crystal, dotted the ceiling generously, and several fireplaces filled the hall with a golden glow. And then there were the _people_ , hundreds of aliens, some humanoid, some utterly fantastical, all dressed in gorgeous finery, all strutting around as if they were royalty. To be fair, some _were_ wearing crowns. It reminded you vaguely of Queen Victoria’s coronation ball, just larger, grander, and _in space_. A low hum echoed in your ears from the moment you stepped inside, every nerve alight in presumed excitement. How _thrilling_. 

“Now, you all go off and have fun!” The Doctor said. “Be polite, come and find me if you see anything odd, and do NOT eat any of the purple stuff, okay?”

“Okay, Doctor, stay safe-” Yaz just about managed to shout after the timelady as she dashed off into the crowd.

“Now what?” Asked Ryan, looking from his grandfather, to me, to Yaz.

“Now, we party!” Replied Graham, nudging his grandson’s arm.

“Shall we try the food first?” Yaz enthused, and you smiled to see them all looking so happy.

You shook your head softly. “I’m gonna go find the toilets, but I’ll be back!”

As you’d suspected, Yaz and Ryan both fixed you with sceptical looks, but they could hardly deny you the right to use the loo.

Graham noticed your discomfort and patted your arm. “Alright then, we’ll be by the buffet, as usual.”

“See you in a minute.” You lied, feeling somewhat sour for abusing their already-fragile trust. You turned, making a show of looking for signs and asking the aliens in your path, and you did not look back.

-

Five minutes later and you were standing beside one of the many fireplaces. You’d picked the one furthest from the centre of the hall, one where the crowds of conversing aliens were thick and would hide you as you did what you needed to do. Casually, you slid your hand into your pocket and took out the papyrus, unfurling it and holding it towards the light. 

For a horrible moment, you thought that you’d made a mistake, that you’d presumed too much, that he was _playing with you_ and the scroll was empty.

But then, _oh, but then_ , words started to appear below the initial message.

It was slow at first, like the slow spread of oil onto water, but then the letters bloomed upon the papyrus until an entire sentence had flourished.

_“Meet me on the third floor gallery._  
Now.  
-M” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, you're finally gonna have the Master back with MC face-to-face next chapter!  
> Be patient <333


	25. Struggling to Exist With You - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday rn so updates are a tad more sporadic than usual. Enjoy! <333

_“Meet me on the third floor gallery._  
Now.  
-M” 

Obviously, you nearly dropped the papyrus upon reading the uncovered message. Your eyes widened and you felt a triumphant sort of satisfaction at having applied yourself and found the Master’s hidden message. As well as the dark, illicit thrill that came with it, you had sorely missed this kind of challenge.

It was easy to slip the paper into the flames before you, convinced as you were that no one else should discover it. It was easier still to maneuver your way through the crowd to the lavish staircase and make your way to the third floor. It only grew difficult when you remembered who you were in such a rush to see. 

_How had the Doctor described him earlier? Ah yes, as an ‘unpredictable, narcissistic egomaniac with too much power and a desperate need to exhibit it’. Right, so there’s that._

But that illustration, so hatefully delivered, just didn’t disturb you all that much. If at all, actually. You couldn’t deny that each of those epithets could be applied to the Master, you’d be naive to do so, but you also knew him to be so much more than that. He had always been so much more than that with you, why else would you be hurrying up several flights of stairs in a floor-length gown, deliberately away from your friends, just to see him?

When you reached the third floor, you took a moment to recover, pretending that the shaking in your legs and the pounding of your heart was due to exertion rather than anticipation. Switching on a quick and dazzling smile, you asked the nearest partygoers for directions towards the gallery, and found yourself pointed towards the wall of glass paneling. The floor soon opened out onto the main ballroom, split in two directions for the gallery to curve around on either side. It was decidedly quieter up here, fewer guests, fewer staff, and you found yourself feeling a little more at ease to be out of the way of the fam. Almost in a trance, you walked all the way to the end of the balcony, where the golden rails met the glass panels and you could stare out at the glittering nebula beyond. 

It was mere moments before all your nerves set alight, all your hairs stood on end, and you felt your stomach flip. By now, the electric sensation was almost familiar, but still so thrilling.

“I got your message.” You spoke without turning around.

“Clever girl.” Replied the voice you had expected to hear, longed to hear. “I knew you would.”

He came to stand at your side, the pair of you positioned to gaze out into the glittering expanse of space, and only then did you let yourself look at him. In the three weeks it had been since you’d last seen him he’d trimmed his hair, but the darkness under his eyes had intensified and his eyes themselves had taken on a deeper, haunted appearance. Despite it, _he looked irritatingly good_ , it was hard to stop yourself from staring.

“You’re not so bad yourself.” The Master said with a wry smile; he cast a long, appreciative glance over you. “I like your dress.”

“I like your suit.” You retorted, you couldn’t help yourself, the navy tux really _did_ suit him. “How did you know I’d come?”

“I didn’t, not for certain.” He admitted with half a shrug. “It was inevitable that the Doctor would think to look for me here, but I wasn’t completely sure that she’d bring you.”

You scoffed. “I wasn’t sure either, she and the fam don’t trust me anymore.”

“Well-”

“I don’t blame them.” You carried on, cutting him off. “I can’t seem to get _you_ out of my head and they can clearly tell.”

You watched him closely, heart fluttering as his lips downturned and his brows pulled into frown.

“Walk with me.” He said, and you let him take your arm. He led you from the gallery and down a side corridor, just as lavish but more dimly lit. You went along with him blindly.

When the pair of you were completely alone, standing in an elaborate little alcove facing each other, the Master sighed heavily. “I told you to play your part, pretend that you hate me. They were _easy instructions_ , sweetheart.”

You bristled at the accusation, wondering why it hurt so much to hear him criticise you, to have him tell you that you’d failed him. “Perhaps you overestimated me-”

“I didn’t.” He cut you off, stepping towards you. “I’ve seen you at court, you’re a wonderful actress, charming, perceptive, I’d go so far as _dazzling-_ ”

“Not with them, not when it’s about _you_.” You shook your head but didn’t back away.

He looked down to see you taking his hands in yours. “I’m the Doctor’s _worst enemy_ , it should’ve been _simple_ to pretend that you hated me.”

“Well, it wasn’t.” Your voice came out shaky, strained as if in pain. “Master, why did you send me that message?”

The Master was silent for a long moment, as were you, just relishing the feel of his hands pressed against yours, his fingertips brushing over your palms, the warmth of his skin under your touch.

“I wanted to see you.” He admitted.

You didn’t reply straight away, though your heart had leapt at his words. He seemed so tense, so ready to turn and flee that you didn’t wish to give him any incentive to do so. “Why?”

“Must I have a reason?” He tugged his hands from your grasp; you instantly missed the thrill of his touch.

“You're the Doctor’s worst enemy, she says you have a reason for _everything_.”

“And you listen to what _she says_ , do you?”

“Yes- no- I don’t know.”

“I didn’t mean to fluster you, love.”

At the sudden softness of his almost-apology you nearly fell into him, his hands once again at your elbows, holding you delicately as if afraid you might break. You were so surprised at how _tactile_ his behaviour was, but you didn’t dare pass comment in case he retracted his affections and left you desolate without them. The way his touch made you feel was impossible to explain in words.

“Hey! You two! What are you doing here?” A shrill voice suddenly tore the pair of you apart, and your head whipped around to see a black-clothed security guard dashing towards the alcove. “This corridor is off-limits!”

The Master instantly disentangled himself from you and began rifling through his pockets, casting you an intense side-glance when he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for.

You inexplicably knew what he was trying to convey, _play your part_.

Quirking your lips into an insipid smile, you laid one hand on the Master’s chest and leant towards the guard. “My apologies, sir, we appear to have wandered away from the ballroom.”

The Master flashed you a pleasant, empty look. “Indeed, we must have gotten so engrossed in our conversation that we didn’t even notice.”

The guard glanced between your simpering performance and the Master’s equally saccharine front with visible uncertainty. “Show me your invites!”

You squeezed the Master’s hand as you noticed another guard coming to investigate the disturbance, evidently alerted by his twitching colleague in front of you.

“Ah, now you see, here’s the thing-” The Master began, oozing charm.

“No invites?” Taunted the other guard as he approached, far more self-assured, _and thus far more dangerous_ , than his shrill-voiced coworker. “Well well, partycrashers, you’re under arrest in the name of the five galaxies alliance.”


	26. Struggling to Exist With You - Part 2

The cell was hardly big enough for _you_ , let alone the Master and his impressively capacious rage as well. You had sunk yourself to the floor, quietly, and arranged your skirts around you in the very picture of composure. It was a sort of visual protest against the Master’s altogether more explosive reaction to being in captivity.

He was pacing and grumbling and being just generally obstinate. “If I had had the tissue compression eliminator-”

“Just call it the TCE.” You interrupted with a sigh, watching as he stopped dead and glared down at you.

“You think you can talk back to me, love?”

You just raised your eyebrows at him. “Yes, Master, I do.”

He scoffed in dangerous disbelief, taking a slow step towards you, but you refused to look away. You always found it hard to look away from him.

“Oh, you are going to be in _so_ much trouble when the Doctor finds us.” He threatened in a low, smooth voice, rippling with dark amusement. The space between you and him, already limited, seemed to decrease with the intensity of his glare. It was as though he could see right into you; the irritation in his gaze had melted, warping into something heated.

“And so are you.” You breathed, hoping that he couldn't hear how fast your heart was beating.

The Master took another frustratingly slow step before crouching down so that he was nearly eye-level to you. His face was so close to yours, so _close_ , eyes filled with habitual, intoxicating fire. He leaned in, lingering just long enough to make you think that he might just-

“Behave yourself.” He said, then pulled away.

You were left stunned, blinking up at him. _Why did he have to be so mercurial?_ “Stop patronizing me and you’ll find that we’ll get along a whole lot better.”

He did that utterly irritating little scoff again. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Except escape this cell on your own, apparently.” You retorted, standing up and feeling the urge to yell at him but not quite giving yourself the pleasure of doing so. He’d love it too much.

“Are you always like this?” The Master asked with a mirthless laugh. “Are you like this with her?”

You hadn’t realised just how close you’d gotten to him again until he mentioned the Doctor. You’d been so busy with him that you’d forgotten about her and the fam, somewhere out there in the party. And here you were, practically chest to chest with her best enemy, thinking about just how _good_ it might be to stand on your tiptoes and-

You saw his eyebrows raise, dark eyes flashing with glee, and shook the idea from your head lest he somehow infer it from your traitorous blush.

“Are you wishing that you’d killed me when you still had the inclination to do so?” You garbled out, picking the first safe thought that you had, half-hoping that it’d make him stop looking at you like _that_.

“You think I can’t kill you now?” He sounded incredulous, but it was the undercurrent of irritation that struck you. However, it did succeed in distracting you from your previous, dangerous train of thought.

“No, I’m aware that you _could_ , but I’m sure that you _won’t_.” You replied, catching his eye and holding it.

“Then you don’t know me at all.” The Master told you, still close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheeks. The last time you could remember being this close to him, he had a knife to your throat, _your_ knife. It was a shame you had taken his advice and not strapped it to your thigh tonight, it could’ve been useful.

“Well, I’m still alive, so one of us is wrong.” You said, unable to resist smiling at just how _theatrical_ he was being, _and how familiar this conversation felt_. “And no, I’m not really like this with the Doctor, if you must know.”

“She’s missing out.” His glower broke into a wry smirk, and the tension between the pair of you softened. 

You shrugged, backing away a little to regain your breath. “I don’t think she enjoys challenging companions, at least not anymore.” You broke off to mimic his smirk.”She likes us to clap and smile and not get involved with her worst enemy.”

“How boring.” The Master remarked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Gosh, it really is.” You admitted with a light, exasperated laugh. When the Master didn’t reply, you glanced up at him to find him watching you carefully.

Struck by his focus, feeling almost as though he knew what you were thinking, you blurted out what had been haunting you since you left him. “Sometimes I think she wishes that she’d just let you keep me.” 

He sighed, and the sound had a gravity to it, as though you’d just confirmed his unhappiest suspicions. “Sometimes I wish the same.”

You stood frozen for a long and indulgent moment, replaying his words as if he hadn’t said them right, as if he was about to unsay them, or wipe your memory and pretend that he hadn’t said them at all, _as if he could ever do such a thing_.

You watched him flinch. “I didn’t want to get involved with you like this.” 

“Neither of us planned it.” You shrugged, and felt the scar on your upper arm pull slightly with the movement.

“You’re not… angry?”

“What’s the point in being angry right now? It won’t change anything.”

“I don’t-”

“You are all rage, all the time. I can’t be like that.”

“Why not?” The Master seemed genuinely curious, which threw you for a moment as you considered what it was he was asking you.

“Well, it seems we’re going to keep bumping into each other now, for whatever reason that you’re not telling me.” You puzzled out. “So one of us has to be the calm one.”

“Rationality is a surprisingly good look on you.” The Master said, and meant it. You thought that as much as he’d probably enjoy seeing you raze civilizations to the ground, he really did seem to respect the contrast of your level-headedness.

“You’d do best not to say stuff like that when the Doctor gets here.” You warned him, ducking your head to hide your blush.

He could practically _feel_ his grin, as if it was reflected on your own face. “Oh but darling, I can’t _wait_ to flirt with you when the Doctor gets here and watch you struggle not to like it, that’s half the fun.”

It took every ounce of composure that you possessed to stop you from becoming a flustered mess. At least outwardly, for on the inside your thoughts were running wild, incensed by his casual words.

“Behave yourself.” You threw his previous command back at him, hoping to deflect away from the sudden chaos you felt.

It didn’t work.

“Never.” He stated, leaning into you once more. “I know you like it-”

“Well, well, well, looks like you two have gotten comfortable.” The Master was interrupted by the screech of the cell door as the previous two guards entered the cramped space, the bolder one announcing himself with an affected drawl. 

“Come to release us, have you?” The Master prompted, keeping you close to his side.

“In a manner of speaking.” Replied the smug guard, glancing towards you with a sick smile. 

His colleague stepped into the dim light of the doorway. “Company policy on intruders means that you two are going to have to be let out.”

You and the Master shared a look.

The smug guard drew two pairs of handcuffs from behind his back. “Out the airlock, that is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yEET


	27. Struggling to Exist With You - Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I _so_ hope that you lovely lot enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it ;))

It was immediate chaos in the cell. The Master tugging you backwards until you were pressed behind him, the two guards advancing on you.

“Oh I don’t think so-” 

“Come on now, come quietly.” Implored the more timid guard, evidently unnerved by the Master’s sudden ferocity. He was quite a spectacle when he was angry, well, when that anger was directed away from _you_.

The Master growled. “Touch her and I will _remove your head from your body-_ ”

Upon registering his words, you looked up at him in surprise, his expression fierce, his eyes burning. You’d never thought that he could be so, so _possessive_ , not over you, never over _you_. It ignited a hot thrill within you, one that you hoped was not obvious, _or permanent_. 

But then he glanced at you, his head whipping around. His expression was partly surprise, but mostly something else, something foreign and dark and illicit which you dared not name. Suddenly, it was as though the two of you were back on his TARDIS, as though anything were possible, _as though he could push you up against that wall right there and just-_

“Oh? Well I have instructions to-” The bolder guard began before the Master snapped out of whatever was holding him to your gaze. He lunged forward, prepared to make good on his threat, his rage washing over you like a steely wave.

“No!” You yelled and wrenched him backwards by the arm.

Before the Master could tug himself free, you turned to the guards. “Wait, our friend, _the Doctor_ , has our invites!” You said with complete conviction. “We’re her companions.”

The passive guard looked towards his colleague, who scoffed. “Is that so?””

Whilst the two guards drew together, conversing in hissing whispers, the Master gently removed your grip on his arm and turned to face you, breathing heavily.

“Do you know how dangerous this is, darling?” He asked with all sincerity, and just a tinge of exasperation, his hand still clasping yours.

You nodded at him and held his hand close to your chest. “Just trust me, Master.”

He returned your nod, his gaze was intense, and you thought for a moment how _good_ it was to be on his side in something, how _right_ it felt to work as a team. With a sudden sharp inhale, you recalled once more just how much you had missed being by his side.

The bold guard interrupted you. “I hardly think-”

The Master flashed you another covert look before addressing the guard. “She’s right, and the Doctor will be mighty irritated if you toss two of her precious companions out into space.”

“She’ll be so angry.” You added firmly.

The Master nodded, resolute. “It’ll be Demons Run all over again.”

_Demons Run_. Well, you hadn’t heard of that before. The Master gave you a single fierce glance. _Not now_.

The weaker guard, the _useful_ one, widened his eyes. “Oh, well, we should go and find her, just to make sure-”

“You’d better let us go now.” The Master insisted, still focussing on the bold guard, the one who was vainly attempting to stare him down. _Idiot_.

“Well, I guess if it makes you feel better, you can release one of us whilst you go and find her.” You offered, so caught up with the Master that you barely registered what you’d said until after you’d committed to it. 

The guards looked as though they were about to protest, their eyes flicking between you and the other, far more intimidating, inmate.

You caught the eye of the bold guard. “You can keep me as collateral.” 

The Master instantly tightened his hold on you. “No-”

“Deal.” One of the guards said, approaching the Master with more confidence. “Go on, sunshine, you’re free to go.”

“Y/N-” The Master implored, but you tried to ignore the indecipherable mess of emotion in his voice, in his eyes.

“It’s alright.” You affirmed, smiling in a way you hoped was reassuring. “I’ll see you around?”

The guards were trying to separate the pair of you, but they stood back when the Master held up his shaking hand. He still had firm hold of you, and he used his leverage on your arm to tug you in close to him, close enough that you could see the storm raging in his electric eyes.

“I won’t forget this.” He promised, gazing at you in a way that had you breathless, lips so close to yours that you could feel each word exhaled against your skin.

“I should- I should hope not.” You managed, gasping, before he leant in and kissed you.

His lips against yours felt so much better than you could ever have imagined. And you _had_ imagined how this would feel, how _he_ would feel, it was impossible not to after all you’d been through with him. His kiss was insistent, passionate, and _unbelievably delicious_ , his hands at your waist, your arms wrapping around his neck, every single inch of you set ablaze at his touch. It was as though this had been inevitable from the moment you’d first met, and certainly from the moment you set foot on his TARDIS.

Regrettably, the kiss lasted mere moments.

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but lean into him, chasing the vitality that you’d felt just seconds before. It had felt more than _good_ , more than _right_. His kiss had indulged a part of you that you barely knew existed, the part of you that fitted with him, the part of you that _belonged to him_ and now could never belong to any other.

Gazing, entranced, into his dark, dark eyes as he made to leave, you knew that he felt the same. You could feel his adrenaline coursing through your veins, mingling with your own; his elation and intoxication and satisfaction slipped into your consciousness like oil on water, distinguishable from your own emotions, but infinitely parallel to them. 

You felt complete in a way that you hadn’t for longer than you could recall.

The Master paused with his hand on the doorframe, taking one last look at you with those haunted, hopeful eyes.

“See you around, love.” 

And then, as usual, he was gone.


	28. Struggling to Exist With You - Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at again! [Here's the slightly updated (and very eclectic) Spotify playlist for this fic.](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7mPXl2x7hzmEOM2jVaTZji)
> 
> ~~Catch the Hamilton ref in this chapter.~~

As soon as the Master left, you pressed yourself back against the cool wall of the cell, desperate for some stability. Your head was reeling. You were so disorientated that it felt as though you’d been thrown headfirst into water, dark water, and the surface was closing over you. You were submerged so deep into the memory of his kiss that it seemed easier to just swim down. 

With your heart still pounding, your breath still coming in odd little gasps, you realised that you could still sense the Master’s presence. It wasn’t a strong sensation, more like a background hum, like the sound of crickets in the grass or of wind in the trees, pleasant, constant, but unintrusive. You tried to recall when you’d last felt this complete, this full of life, but the memory seemed to evade you. Distantly, as though through fog, you remembered your time in the graveyard with the Master before he passed you back to the Doctor. Him, holding your knife to your throat, then you, in his arms, shaking from the intensity of his anguish as it engulfed you. It had happened less than a month ago, but already your recollection of the whole affair was hazy. Unnaturally hazy.

How had you forgotten what it was like to be near him? What it was like to share in his emotions, sense the changes in his mood and influence it with your own? _When did that stop for you?_

And that time, that time in the Doctor’s TARDIS, when you had just left him, the tearing pain that had felt like death, the agony of being wrenched from his side. 

It all made a little bit more sense. You didn’t know what had originally established the odd sort of link you had with him, and you didn’t know if the Master or the Doctor knew what it was, but you did know that it was back. And you also knew that thinking about it was giving you a really strange sort of headache.

A voice from outside the cell suddenly called your name, and you perked your pounding head upwards.

“Don’t panic, Y/N!” Called the voice, and you could tell from the sheer amount of _Yorkshire_ going on there that it was the Doctor.

“I’m fine, Doctor.” You replied benignly, just glad to be getting out of the uncomfortable cell.

The door swung open, the two guards appearing with appropriately shamefaced expressions.

“We’re so sorry ma’am, it won’t happen again.” The first guard apologised with an attempt at a salute.

The quieter guard nodded frantically in agreement. “I hope your other com-”

“Thank you boys!” You cut him off and blew a rather obnoxious kiss in his direction, which the Doctor couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Oh you, since when were you such a troublemaker?” She asked, still smiling, but you detected a hint of something genuine underlying the amusement.

“I don’t think you want me to answer that, Doc.” You replied with a cheery enough grin that she didn’t press for an answer.

The pair of you began to walk back towards the main ballroom, and you found yourself looking around at every guest you passed, wondering if the Master had come this way, if he’d stuck around, if he’d left already. Everytime you caught yourself searching for his face in the crowd, you felt like you were betraying the Doctor as she walked beside you.

“If you’re wondering, I didn’t find him.” She said after a while, breaking the surface of the tension that had arisen between the pair of you.

You hummed an acknowledgement and glanced at her. “Find who?”

The look she gave you was just a little _too_ sharp when she deadpanned your name.

You shrugged and diverted your attention towards a spectacularly dressed guest, pretending to be fascinated by their costume. “Maybe he knew you were coming.”

“He was here.” She corrected immediately.

“Huh?” Your eyes snapped back to find her looking at you with fierce interest, it was hard not to duck your head away again. “You just said…”

“He was here, I just missed him.” The Doctor revealed. “Apparently, he disappeared half-way through the night.”

“Oh.”

And that was that. _Or so you thought._

After a minute of squeezing past yet more obnoxiously-outfitted guests, the Doctor frowned across at you. “So, what happened to you, then?”

_Shit_.

You thought of everything that _had_ happened, desperately trying to figure out how to cover for the Master, cover for yourself, and get away with it all. 

“I just got caught up with someone, I got carried away.” You managed to say, hoping to sound nonchalant and just a little embarrassed. Every lie was better when seasoned with a bit of truth, after all, and in saying what you said, you hadn’t outright deceived the Doctor.

“That doesn’t sound like you.” She remarked, tilting her head, and you had to agree. 

“Well, you did say I was a troublemaker.” You tried weakly, but you were sure that she saw through your paper smile.

“Do I know this ‘someone’?” Her tone was open, and disconcertingly casual.

You shook your head, deciding that this time, you didn't need to lie at all. “No, no I don’t think you do.”

-

The Doctor herded you back to the TARDIS, where she left you with the rest of the fam in the console room whilst she disappeared off.

“Just asking around one last time, wouldn’t want to miss any leads!” She garbled, diving back out the door in a typically animated fashion.

And then it was just you, Ryan, Yaz, and Graham. The silence was smothering.

“Did you have a nice time finding the toilet then?” Yaz asked after a pregnant pause, her tone surprisingly hostile.

You raised an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, it was right down the hall.”

“And you were there… all evening?” Asked Graham, voice heavy with concern.

“Oh no, I met some lovely people on my way back.” You said with a little laugh. “I got all caught up with the dancing, you know?”

Yaz shot you a look that she must’ve learned from the Doctor, it was cold, and unabashedly direct. “Oh, we know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You asked her, narrowing your eyes. You’d never known Yaz to be so passive-agressive, she was usually so sweet with everyone in the TARDIS. It further cemented your suspicion that Yaz saw you as a threat to the Doctor, and so help anyone who dared to go against the Doctor in front of Yazmin Khan.

“Y/N, we were just worried.” Sighed Graham, distracting you from Yaz’s cold eyes.

“I didn’t mean to worry you, Graham.” You replied, and it was the truth. “I just caught up with someone in the crowd, we wandered off down a corridor that we shouldn't, and then we got into a little trouble with security.”

Ryan tried to give you a small smile, but it was a pale thing in comparison to the strength of Yaz’s glare. “And to think, we only managed to stick by the buffet.”

“The Master was there.” Yaz said suddenly.

You nodded. “The Doctor told me.”

“He disappeared halfway through the night.”

“She told me that as well-”

“With some girl.” Yaz cut you off.

You wish you had managed to hide your wide eyes.

Passing off your shock with a nervous laugh, you clutched your hands melodramatically to your heart. “Ah, I can’t believe he’s moved on so fast. I thought _I_ was his favourite hostage!”

Ryan held up his hands. “You’ve got to be kidding-”

“I’m joking.” You confirmed, your feigned amusement having been snuffed out. “What he gets up to, or _who_ he gets up to, is none of my business.”

“Y/N, we just thought-”

You held up your own hands, as if surrendering to the role you played in this TARDIS now. “It’s none of our business.”

They all had the decency to look sufficiently taken aback. You could feel the deceit under your skin, and you wished that it didn’t have to be this way, that you didn’t have to _lie to your friends_.

“Leave this to the Doctor.” You added, lying through your teeth despite the bitter taste.

Suddenly overcome with guilt and exhaustion, you murmured something about being tired, and left the console room. As you walked down the long, cool corridor, you pressed your fingertips to your lips and tried to blink back your tears.


	29. Put It Back Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a really, really busy and important week coming up, so you might not get an update for the next 10-14 days.  
> Hope this suffices until then!  
> <3
> 
> ~~Also, props to anyone who catches the Duchess of Malfi reference.~~
> 
> ~~And the minor BTS Dynamite reference.~~

Over the next few days, you chose to kid yourself into believing that you could still taste the Master’s kiss on your lips. Sweet as honey.

In the hours after it had happened, you had felt the distance between him and you like an ache in your side. Or more like an ache in your upper arm, where that scar you’d gotten on Orphan 55 throbbed erratically more often than not.

When the TARDIS had whirred into action and the Doctor had steered her safely into the time vortex and away from the conference, you had felt a potent wave of nausea. The dizziness that had accompanied it had you groaning into your bedsheets, simultaneously relieved that the pain wasn’t as grievous as the last time you’d left him, but horrified to think that the bond between you was undoubtedly back with all physical effect. Compared to how strong the pull had been between you in that cell, the very faint hum of your connection to him now was upsetting. You had felt so _satisfied_ after he had kissed you, like your very being was so deeply comfortable with him by your side. In the time you had spent musing over the idea, you’d realized that it wasn’t as though you and him were two halves of the same whole, it felt more like you were two wholes that just inexplicably happened to be drawn to each other. Both of you were independent, both of you were singular, and yet both of you fit together like a lock and key. You had found, time and time again, that you did not want to lose him.

And that left you with another dilemma entirely.

Yaz was now open in her suspicion of you, and Graham’s pity made up the other end of that spectrum. Ryan sat somewhere in the middle, cautious of you, but not outright convinced of your villainy. You had no idea where the Doctor stood, and it seemed that neither did the rest of the fam. She treated you just as she’d always had, with only a tad more intensity, a dash more curiosity, and an expression of disconcerting confusion in her eyes whenever she looked at you.

It was a tedious theatre, and you were playing a part in it almost entirely against your will.

There was no ending to this that left the fam at peace, and you and the Master both alive.

\---

_You panted, leaning heavily against one of the plane seats as you tried to recover from the scramble to get aboard. A hand touched your back gently, and you turned around to see O’s dark eyes looking down at you._

_“You alright?” He asked and you nodded._

_“I’ve never been good at sprinting either.” You replied with a smile._

_The Doctor lifted her head, hair a little messy from the run. “Never been good at sprinting, O?”_

_O looked a little shamefaced. “I was the last one in every race at school.”_

_Now the Doctor really did perk up, looking at the MI6 agent with renewed interest. “No, no, no, I read your file, you’re a champion sprinter.”_

_You watched O from over your shoulder. You watched as his face twisted, all of the puppyish softness melting away in an instant, watched as his doe eyes hardened, glinting maniacally, watched as his embarrassed little frown curled into a smirk. And then you backed away from him, towards the Doctor, and he hardly seemed to notice._

_“Got me.” He murmured in a tone that was entirely, terrifyingly new. “Well done.”_

_Your mouth hung open, mirroring the rest of the fam, and suddenly it was hard to breath, hard to stand. The questions from the others just registered as empty air to you, so focussed were you on O’s sudden and complete transformation. Even his mannerisms had changed, all within an instant, leaving you to watch this stranger with horrified anticipation._

_“You’d best take a look out the window.” He said, and dumbly, you did._

_“But thats-”_

_“How is your house out there?”_

_“Bit Wicked Witch of the West, but you get the gist.” O remarked flippantly before sparing a glance at the collection of confused faces around him. “Maybe, maybe not.”_

_You made eye contact with Yaz, who stared at you helplessly, both of you struggling with the realisation that you’d been taken in by this man, and that the cost was going to be steep._

_“Oh.” The Doctor murmured, and you registered the rising alarm in her tone._

_The man you had been calling O suddenly grinned, and the nightmarish image of it would worm itself into your mind for the days come._

_“That’s my name and that is why I chose it.” He revealed with heady glee. “Oh, so satisfying.”_

_You glanced across at the Doctor, fear and helplessness building in equal measure as your panic manifested. She didn’t even look at you, or Yaz, or Ryan and Graham. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the man in front of you._

_“Doctor, I did say, look for the spymaster.” He continued, ignoring all of you but the timelady. “Or should I say, spy… Master.”_

_The sheer terror that warped the Doctor’s face was petrifying. You had never once seen her like this, never once seen her so_ vulnerable.

_“Hi.” He purred, and his eyes flicked to yours. The glance was so momentary that you would’ve missed it if it wasn’t for the dark pulse of fear that sliced through you._

_“You can’t be.” The Doctor protested._

_“Oh, I can be, and very much am.” The man-who-was-not-O retorted, eyes dark and hot and promising, alight with fire and fury. He was utterly electrifying, utterly commanding, and utterly impossible to look away from._

_“So, what’s going on then, he’s not really O?” Ryan’s voice cut through your reverie._

_“I’m her best enemy.” The man taunted, slipping past the Doctor, close enough to touch any one of the fam. But his eyes found yours as he stopped in front of you. “Call me Master.”_

-

You shook yourself awake, sweating and gasping and wishing beyond all hope that you’d awaken in _his_ TARDIS.

Endlessly dreaming about when your fascination had begun, so intertwined with your fear that you barely recognised the sweet pull of desire until he had had his lips on yours. The honeyed lull of desire that you now experienced near _constantly_.

Every night you recalled that ill-fated flight, you fell yet deeper, wondering if and how it would ever resolve. If and how you could ever just let him in, or _let him go_.


	30. Live in a Cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! Instead of apologising for how late this is, I am going to thank you all for your patience.   
> Hope it was worth the wait! <3

_Another Three Weeks Later_

A few more empty days, a few more adventures; Nikola Tesla had been utterly charming, a welcome break from the frostiness amongst Team TARDIS; the judoon had reminded you of your scepticism of the justice system, and to never trust a rhino; then Praxeus had happened, and you’d found it surprisingly nice to be on modern-day Earth with new people, despite the life-threatening aspects. 

Then there were those two immortals. Zellin and Rakaya had featured in your consciousness more than the figures of the other adventures had, chasing each other around your head. There was something decidedly poignant about two ill-fated beings separated across the stars, forever stuck trying to save and sustain each other, even if they had had questionable morals. You weren’t stupid enough to miss the parallels.

It was a few evenings after that adventure when you happened to be making your way to the TARDIS library, eager to pick up the next installment in the tragic alien romance series you were reading, when you overheard something that you shouldn’t have.

"She's not been the same. She's so distant." Yaz’s voice, clear and concerned.

"Did you really expect any different?" The Doctor replied, not unkindly. From the silence that followed, you assumed that it was just the two of them in the kitchen.

At this point, you could've just walked away and been none the wiser, you should’ve just walked away and left them to their discussion. But of course, you didn’t do that.

You heard the Doctor sigh. “You know what the Master is like.” 

Now there was no _way_ that you could leave, even though you already knew that you wouldn’t like what you were about to hear. Even his name had your heart beating faster, _even the sound of his name_.

"She defends him though!” This time when Yaz spoke, all the previous softness was gone. “It's almost like she... I don't know, Doctor."

"Like she 'what', Yaz?" 

You could tell what Yaz had been about to say. You could tell that the Doctor knew as well, judging by the cold warning in her tone.

"It’s almost like she has feelings for him." Yaz carried on, and your stomach lurched.

There was a clatter, like a mug being put down hard, and the Doctor’s spluttered exclamation followed. "No. No, she- she can’t- no." 

You pressed your hand to the doorframe for some stability, your breaths coming shallow as you tortured yourself. You should’ve just walked away as soon as you heard his name mentioned, it would’ve saved you so much trouble. _Too late for that, now_.

“Doctor, you’ve heard her talk about him, you’ve seen them together more times than I have.” Yaz was intent now, her voice was strained and loud. “Are you telling me that you aren’t the slightest bit worried?”

"We have no way of knowing what he put her through-"

At this, you finally pushed open the door, sick to death of the conversation but resolutely determined to join it. 

"You could just ask me." You said, and watched as their heads whipped around to stare at you with wide, alarmed eyes. In any other circumstance, it might have been comical.

The Doctor was the first to try a smile. "Y/N, we were just-"

"Yaz, I answered all of your questions." You interrupted, saving the Doctor from having to finish her excuse. "I know you didn't like my answers but I tried to be honest with you."

Yaz did you the favour of looking you in the eye, albeit half-heartedly. "I have more, now."

"Then ask away." You spread your arms, palms up. You weren’t sure why you tried to be so open with them, maybe it was because you felt guilty for your transgressions with the Master, or else you just wanted to see how far they would push it if allowed to do so.

"No, Y/N, we're not investigating you, that is not what we want to do." The Doctor replied with an insistence you were grateful for, but irritated with.

"I think it's what Yaz wants to do." You shrugged. "If it'd make you feel better, then go ahead. I'm tired of you all dancing around what you actually want to say to me."

It was Yaz’s turn to thrust her mug to the table, an errant splash of tea curling over the rim. "We just want to know that you're alright."

You froze and blinked at her. Whatever you had been expecting her to say following an action that aggressive, it wasn’t an admittal of concern.

"If I'm... alright?" You repeated.

"You've been distant recently. We've been worried." The Doctor stated, and inclined her head towards the free stool by the kitchen counter. You took it, almost in a daze, and sat down across from them.

"You've been... worried?” You couldn’t hide the faint edge of disbelief in your tone.

"Of course, we're your friends, and you have had a… you’ve had a rough time."

You laughed a little awkwardly, and the sound fell flat. "No, Doctor, really you're trying to make it seem as if I've been through a war or something."

"I know what he's like.” She said quickly. “I know how hard it must've been for you, how manipulative he can be."

"I'm sure you're not lying, I know he treated you badly in the past, and I know that he can be awful.” You couldn’t stop the way you ached to defend him, not to save him from the consequences of his past, he had earned those, but to try and preserve his right to a future. “But he wasn't awful, not to me."

"Y/N, he is so skilled at hypnotism-"

"Doctor, you're not listening to me."

"I know it's not your fault, whatever happened-"

"Just listen to me! Please!" You begged, glancing between her and Yaz. "The Master treated me decently. Yes, he had a bit of temper, but there was only one moment that I felt unsafe, and he soon fixed that.”

The way they looked at you, horrified, was so close to how they looked at _him_. You felt like you were screaming in some foreign language that no one else could understand, like you could make any point, start any debate, run any mile, but always end up right back where you started.

The Doctor just shook her head. "He has that effect, I'm sure he never told you about a woman called Lucy Saxon, but what he did to her-"

"He did. He told me about his wife. He told me how they destroyed each other. He told me that you were there." You confessed to her, desperate to make her consider the Master’s potential to be generous, his potential to be honest.

Yaz perked up at this, finally meeting your eyes rather than the Doctor’s. "Wait, the Master had a wife?"

"Yaz, I think Y/N and I should discuss this further alone." The Doctor brushed her off so swiftly and cooly that you felt the atmosphere of the room tighten like a vice.

"Why make her leave? Why hide this from her?” You were angry now. It was one thing to earn the Doctor’s suspicion as you had, it was quite another thing to see her take it out on one of her other companions so easily. 

“This could've happened to any one of us, Doctor, he could've had any one of us." You reminded her, all whilst watching the series of expressions that crossed Yaz’s face with interest.

The Doctor’s face was stoic. "But he took you."

_By the gods, had he taken you_. And weren’t you glad that he had? You had learned so much from him, with him. Your eyes, already wide open to the wonders of the universe, were now bright with a sensitive sort of perception, keen with that unending hunger you had never once felt travelling in the Doctor’s TARDIS. You had placed your delicate faith in him, and he had, by your tentative account, done the same with you.

“Yes, he took me, and now I have to deal with everyone on this ship looking at me as if they wished he'd kept me." You spoke without malice, despite the pain in your words. 

You took a deep, unsatisfying breath, then heard the Doctor do the same. Yaz was silent.

"That's not true, Y/N.” The Doctor said. “It has been so hard for us to let you go and then get you back."

"I am genuinely sorry for the pain I caused.” You replied, with all the sincerity that you could muster. “But I cannot pretend that I'm a victim, his victim."

Glancing across at her now, you could see the resignation dawning in the Doctor’s eyes as she realised that you could no longer be what she wanted you to be. It filled you with relief, but also a deep and tangible sadness. You had known, when you had been returned to her, that things would never be the same again. Now you had to accept it fully, without regret, without reward.

"I know you all want me to play the part, say that he was so awful and that I was so terrified and that he was a hateful monster who I never want to see again.” You admitted, but failed to stop your voice from shaking. “ And I know that he wants that too."

"But I can't make myself do it. I can't make myself pretend to hate him because I don't." You continued, and with each word you felt yourself growing lighter. "What I can do, Doctor, is show you.”

“No-” The Doctor tried to deny you, but you were already standing, holding out your hands to her and tossing your hair back from your face.

“I'll let you into my head, I’ll let you see my memories of his TARDIS.” You said, then bit your lip as if you could retract the words. “It is the only way you'll ever stop looking at me like I'm a wounded animal."

The Doctor was standing now, too, and the expression on her face flashed alternately between panicked and furious. Trying to steady yourself, you took one of her hands in yours and held it carefully up to your temple, each movement slow so as to not spook her more. 

"You have to know that I don't do this lightly. I don't _want this_.” You confessed. “But I can't think of anything else.”

“Y/N, I don’t think-”

“Just do it.”

“No.” The Doctor’s voice was cold, and she instantly tugged her hand from your grasp. You heard Yaz gasp, but neither of you turned to look at her.

Your eyes narrowed. “You are so scared that you’ll see I am telling the truth.”

“I am hoping that you’ll realize that you’re not.” The Doctor retorted. “Go to bed, we’ll talk about this later.”

_You knew that it’d be the kind of ‘later’ that never comes_.

Pointedly, she sat back down, fixing her attention on her now stone-cold cup of tea. Yaz glanced up at you, evidently shaken, eyes glassy, but you just shook your head.

“Goodnight, Doctor.” You murmured, then left, closing the kitchen door behind you as if to contain all the frigid tension within. For a moment, you leaned against the wall, wondering whether you should carry on your way to the library, or simply resign yourself to bed.

You decided on the latter. What was the point of reading about a tragic alien romance if you were already living it? That bitter, comical, vastly over-dramatic thought haunted you on your short walk back to your bedroom, and joined you between the sheets, tormenting you late into the night.

How you wondered what the Master would say to you, if he were there.


	31. Let's See How Deep We Get - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! :)))  
> I'm back at uni now so updates may be a little slower, especially when my classes start.  
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, shit is really hitting the fan here.
> 
> **Trigger warning:** mild gore/injury (mentions of blood)

You awoke to a pounding in your head and an aching in your lower back. The light behind your eyelids was a dim, hazy grey and your mouth felt uncomfortably dry.

It took a few more languid minutes for you to come to, struggling against the heaviness that permeated your limbs. Groaning, you tried to reach up to rub at your fevered forehead. 

But found that you couldn't. 

The vicious tug of something abrasive at your wrists met you instead, making a bolt of white-hot panic slice through you. Your eyes snapped open as you regained sudden lucidity. Breathing heavily, you looked around at your surroundings, feeling your heart stammer in your chest at the unfamiliarity that greeted you. It would’ve been impossible to stay calm considering what you saw. You were in a cold, grey, concrete basement; two dingy windows slashed the top of the far wall, shiny with condensation; a couple of rickety metal chairs sulked nearby, presumably identical to the one you were tied to; the only light came from one measly exposed bulb overhead. 

Trying to quell your shaking, you yanked hard at the ropes that bound your wrists and body, finding them unyielding. You struggled again, and again, the sound of the chair grating against the concrete floor covering the sound of your rapid breaths until you were forced to stop, panting heavily. The ropes hadn’t even loosened.

You thought about crying out, asking where you were, demanding your release, but you quickly deliberated that silence was your best shot at survival. You did not wish to aggravate an unknown enemy anymore than you apparently already had. So you waited in the semi-darkness, and tried to make sense of how you’d ended up in this situation.

From what you could hazily recall, you had been visiting a trading bazaar on some bustling planet the Doctor had taken you to, drifting along behind the fam and trying to avoid the concerned gaze of Graham. The bright colours mingled with heady, exotic scents in your fuzzy memory as you tried to remember the moment it had all gone wrong, too dazed to do anything more. You remembered being seized by an odd sensation as you passed a narrow side street, perceiving something so dark and enticing that you had thought it immediately to be _him_. Like a fool, you had followed where it had led, compelled and entranced and so, so _hopeful_. You’d only made it a little way down the alley, having ducked away from the Doctor’s careless watch, before everything went black. 

A sudden cacophony of voices forced you out of your recollection with a jolt of fear. You could hear heavy footsteps on the floor above you, accompanying the murmur of muffled speech, growing louder with each moment. Then, an odd crashing sound and a sharp exclamation. Then, the shuffle of shoes on creaking stairs.

Someone was coming down to see you.

You struggled once more and attempted to shift your wrists from the rope, frantic with fear, eyes fixed on the door to your left. With a heaving groan, your chair tilted and you froze, heart pounding at the thought of plummeting to the concrete floor and losing any vantage that you may have had. Your sweaty palms slipped over and over each other uselessly, the dry rope now cutting into your skin with burning insistence. 

The door opened, and your heart leapt into your throat.

A well-dressed woman walked in, her high-heeled shoes clicking against the floor, hair upswept, her scarlet nails clutched like talons around a dusty book. Her face was angular, sharp and pointed like a fox, and her smiling lips were a smear of scarlet against pallid skin. Two attendants followed behind her, a man and a woman, equally well-turned-out, equally as intimidating.

"You're awake." Said the woman, voice sweet and shrill and simpering. Handing the book in her arms to one of her attendants, she approached you, and appraised you, standing neatly before your chair. You had to tilt your head back to look up at her.

"Who are you?” You asked, breathing shallowly. “Where am I?"

“I am Madame Malport.” She said, pushing thin spectacles up her thin nose with a perfectly manicured finger. "And we are the Disciples of Saxon."

You blinked up at her, wrinkling your own nose. "Am I supposed to know what that is?" 

The name Saxon did ring a bell, a faint and very distant bell, but you were either too scared or too dazed to search it out.

She raised an arched eyebrow. "Harold Saxon has been known by many names, but his most prolific was his title.”

Madame Malport stepped backwards and held out her arms to her two attendants, who raised their hands to her.

“He is our Master." She enthused with reverence. “The Master of us all.”

Your stomach dropped, then twisted, then decided to force its way up your throat. It took all your self-restraint not to wretch.

"You have got to be kidding me." You garbled, groaning, leaning your head against the back on the seat. "That mad _bastard-_ "

Madame Malport hurried over to you then, fast as a viper. Her hand darted out, encrusted with jewellery, and you heard the resounding slap before you felt it. The sound reverberated in the close air of the basement. It took a moment to realize that her rings had cut into your skin, tearing thin stripes into your cheek that stung when your tears of shock ran into them. The flash of heat from the smack faded quickly into a throbbing ache, and the tang of blood was thick in your mouth when you managed to look up at the vile woman in front of you.

"Don't ever sully his name with your foul tongue!" She spat, venomous, her eyes ablaze with manic devotion.

_"I've sullied more than his name with this tongue."_ You murmured under your breath, words slurring.

The male attendant stepped forward into the light, and you were alarmed to see the circular tattoos that swirled up his neck, interlocking like gears. Through the blurriness of your pain, you thought that the patterning looked familiar.

"We are aware that you, you shameless ally of the Doctor, have spent some time with our Lord." He hissed, glaring at you so hotly it was a wonder that you didn’t combust.

"Yes, he kidnapped me.” You deadpanned. “This is feeling rather like déjà vu."

"Insolent temptress!” Cried the other female attendant, her red nails biting into the cover of the book that she clutched.

Madame Malport cast a withering look at her associates before fixing her cold eyes back onto you. Her ill-worn smile was a smug, satisfied little thing. "One of our associates reported that you were seen kissing him." 

You instantly flushed as red as her manicure. "Ah, well, about that, he kissed _me_ , actually-"

"And so you bear his imprint."

"I- I _what?_ " 

Whatever you had expected her to say, it wasn’t that. Her gleeful tone and glittering smile did nothing to assuage your confusion, nothing to put you at ease.

"We will use it to bind him to us, as our Master Infinitum!" The female attendant exalted.

You shook your head, eyes wide. "That's... a terrible idea, really."

"He shall be our God!” Added the male attendant.

"I really don't-"

Madame Malport approached you once more as you struggled frantically against your bonds. She grinned.

"And you will be our sacrifice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahahahahahaha


	32. Let's See How Deep We Get - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha so I told you I wouldn't be updating for a while...  
> I lied. 
> 
> Surprise.
> 
> **Trigger warning:** mentions of injury, cursing, violence

"Don't touch me!" You yelled, still tugging against the ropes that were rubbing your wrists raw.

Just as Madame Malport called one of her associates over, presumably to steal the Master's imprint from your unwilling lips, there was a sudden explosion of shouting upstairs. The woman in front of you looked up, as did her attendants, all four of you flinching as a colossal crash shook the ceiling. You cowered in your chair, the momentary relief of Madame Malport’s distraction descending into further fear as the noise upstairs crescendoed. 

Then, all was silent. 

All was silent except for the sound of heavy footfall on the stairs.

The door burst open, slamming into the wall hard enough to shake flakes of chipped paint from the frame, a dark figure outlined in the dim light.

_"How dare you?"_

The figure actually growled out his words, his voice rough with anger where it would usually be smooth, rich, _deliciously familiar_. You sucked in a sharp breath, head churning, stomach spinning. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, your eyes widening, your lips parting in awe.

“Master.” You nearly sobbed his name, unsure if the relief that coloured your voice was his or yours. There was anger on your part, yes, for without him this would have never happened to you. But you could not deny with any real conviction that you were pleased to see him.

He didn’t reply, didn’t look at you. He just stepped into the light, chest heaving, purple coat discarded and shirt sleeves rolled up, shaggy hair flopping into his incandescent eyes. You couldn’t help but notice that somewhere, some _when_ , he had grown a beard. His appearance made your heart physically _ache_ with longing. A longing so potent that you were certain that he could feel it too, aflame endlessly, a beacon across the stars.

"Master! Our Lord Master!" Madame Malport was flustered, elated. You didn’t know how she could be so _stupid_. The attendants fell to their knees, and you felt secretly glad that you were already sitting.

The Master simply shook his head, raising the TCE with a trembling hand to point it at the leader of his disciples. "How _dare_ you take her?" 

“We took her for _you_ , Master.” Replied Madame Malport reverently. "We will use her as you did, use her to make you the Timelord Vainglorious, use her to disgrace your enemies!"

_Use her as you did_.

The words were like a slap to the face, all over again. It hurt so poignantly to remember that you had just been _collateral damage_ when you’d gotten involved with the Master, and that to this cult, you were just the same now. As if to taunt you further, the Master’s old comment resurfaced in your mind, _quite the loveliest bargaining chip I have ever seen_ , and your eyes stung with fresh tears.

"You will do no such thing." The Master warned in a voice so heavy with threat that you began to tremble once more. He was burning like a star, lucent with rage, his eyes were a solar storm in the darkness. "You will not so much as _look_ at her, you are not worthy of that honour."

You caught your breath, and he caught you with his gaze, setting you similarly alight. He did not need to speak, and neither did you; the look he sent you said all that he hadn’t.

"She is a petty human." Madame Malport spluttered, voice trailing into an indignant screech, breaking your gaze from the Master’s.

"She is _mine_ and you would've done well to have learned that!" The Master yelled, adding a laugh at the _audacity_. The ripple of dark amusement that you felt rolled off of him like a wave. "You were best left dead with the name Harold Saxon."

You felt his rage, his anguish, his relief, _your_ relief, rising up inside you until you were light-headed. You were giddy, you were _breathless_.

"But my Lord! We saved you!" Cried Madame Malport, echoed by her attendants lamentations.

"You destroyed me." The Master corrected her, and if you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did, you would never have heard the faint tremor of pain in his voice. "And I never once chose to return the favour."

"My Lord Master!” The Madame wailed as the Master raised his TCE, turning her attendants into little dolls.

"Until now." He added, before aiming it at Madame Malport and reducing her to a mere plaything, joining her attendants, scattered like abandoned pieces on a vast chess board.

You watched as the Master stood for a moment, chest heaving, glaring down at the fallen cultists, his devoted disciples.

“Good fucking riddance.” He murmured under his breath, and the dark, vindictive part of you could not help but agree. 

At that flicker of malice, the Master seemed to remember that you were still in the room, still tied to a chair, still bleeding. His glare turned on you.

He greeted you gruffly by name, voice cold, before he began to untie the ropes that bound your wrists. He worked fast, rough, forcing a hiss past your lips as the ties fell away from your raw skin. Then, he moved onto the restraints around your body, and all the while you tried to meet his eye, unnerved by his stony silence.

“Master.” You called gently as he freed you from your binds. 

He hardly looked up, eyes flickering under thick, dark lashes.

“Thank you.” You said, and he nodded. Offering you his hand, he tried to help you up, darting forward to catch you as your legs gave out. You had severely overestimated your strength, underestimated how long you’d been bound so tightly.

“Can you walk?” He asked, stiffly.

You nodded. “Yes, yes I think so, I’m not hurt.”

He rolled his eyes as you took a cautious step, still clinging onto him, cursing yourself for how badly you were shaking.

“I’ll carry you.” He stated.

“That is… not necessary, Master, I’m fine-”

“Stop protesting.” He told you, arms looping under your back and knees. “I’ll carry you.”

So he did, and for the first time that day, you felt _safe_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Getting carried by Dhawan!Master.... the dream.


	33. Let's See How Deep We Get - Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You have all been so patient whilst I scribbled away at this. Uni has been predictably overwhelming, and I don’t have as much time as I’d like to write.
> 
> Also, since this is something that will be coming up eventually, would you guys prefer explicit smut scenes or scenes that are more implied/less descriptive?  
> I am alllllll for explicit, but I thought I’d ask you sinful lot ;))

As soon as you recovered a little of your strength, you insisted on walking, flushing heavily at having been such a _burden_. It didn’t help that the Master had been silent for the entire ascent out of the basement, silent when he’d walked you past the decimated remains of the basement’s upstairs, silent as he’d carried you down an alleyway and out into the outskirts of the trading bazaar. It didn’t help that the bond between you, once so electric, had dulled on the way, like a cloud passing over the moon. Like he had _forced_ a cloud to cross the moon. It was when you reached the foothills of some strange lilac mountains that you asked to be put down. 

The Master grumbled, set you on your feet, and then started to berate you.

“I do not understand you.” Was the very first thing to come out of his mouth, any relief that you felt upon hearing him speak was quashed by his cool tone.

You turned to him, then gingerly hurried to catch up with him as he stomped away from you across the hilly trail. The fury that radiated off of him was purely his own, it didn’t even brush against your confusion or hurt, repelling the tenderness of your feelings like oil and water.

"I give you the simple instruction to play your part, and what do you do? You wander off from your _babysitter_ and nearly get yourself killed." His voice was loud, impassioned, vicious.

You stumbled, the blurred edge of your surprise sharpening into irritation. "Master-"

"I thought you were smart, how can someone so clever make such a stupid, imbecilic, reckless decision?" He asked the lilac mountains in front of him, not even bothering to address you.

"Master, it’s not- I-"

He rounded on you, turning so sharply it was a wonder he remained on his feet, staring you down with those ember eyes. "Don't you dare try and make excuses for this!”

You stopped. You stopped as though his snarl had been a punch to the stomach, a verbal shove that you felt just as viscerally. Whatever he had been doing to the bond, however he had been repressing it, blocking himself off from it, ended all at once. A torrent of emotion flooded you as his focus broke, it was difficult to take a breath, and when you did, it was a hitched, stuttering thing. Then the tears started, and _gods_ , you wished that they hadn’t.

"I'm sorry." You spluttered, rubbing your cheeks roughly with your sleeve. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

You muffled a sob into your hand, suddenly so _tired_. The day’s events had finally caught up to you, standing apart on that hillside, and there was little you could do to outrun them now. Raising your head, cheeks aflame with frustration and shame, you watched the Master’s eyes clear. It was his turn to stop, his turn to stumble back as if dealt a fatal blow.

"Oh, darling, _no_." His voice was alarming in its breathiness, he sounded _wounded_. You failed to silence your next stilted sob, and you heard his echoing gasp. Then, he was rushing towards you, then, he was placing his hands on either side of your head, cradling your cheeks.

"You're safe.” He insisted, brushing away your tears with his thumbs, careful to avoid your fresh injuries. “ _Fuck_ , you're safe with me now."

"I could never have meant for this to happen.” You hiccupped, sinking forwards into his arms until your face was pressed into his shirt and his fingers were threading through your hair.

“The Doctor didn’t protect you the way she should’ve.” The Master murmured, the rumbling warmth of his voice surrounding you, enveloping you, embracing you as he was. “And neither did I.”

“I know I was reckless.” You mumbled, voice muffled by his chest. “Don’t blame her, or yourself, for my mistake.”

“Don’t you see?” He asked. “Without _my mistake_ , they never would’ve- this wouldn’t have-”

You leaned back out of his tight grasp to meet his turbulent eyes; his hands slipped from your face and recaptured you at your waist.

“And what mistake was that?” Though your voice was not strong, it held your reignited irritation well enough. “Do you really still regret saving my life?”

“It has ruined me.” The Master admitted, and there was something so definite and yet so desperate in how he spoke. You could not recall having ever seen him so defeated, _and at your hand_. The feeling that rose in you at his words was foreign, a heady brew of fury and desolation that would’ve been crushing if not for the sinful thrill that spiced it. The spark of acknowledgement of your own power, that you should have so much power over _him_ without even intending to.

The Master clearly felt your intoxication, his darkening eyes all the proof you needed to know that whatever power you had over him, he had just as strong a hold over _you_. 

“But I don’t regret it, I’m not sure if I ever actually regretted it.” He concluded, and all the fire in the skies could not compare to the heat in his gaze as he looked at you.

“Oh.” You replied, intelligently.

He leant in, ducking his head as if about to capture your lips with his, before he stopped, mouth just a whisper from yours. 

“Earlier, I could feel your fear.” He exhaled against your cheeks. “And I have never felt so helpless.”

“I was- I was terrified.” You assented, eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of his breath fanning your eyelashes. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” He said. “It was my honour.”

And then he kissed you.

The taste of him was just as sweet as before, just as good, just as intoxicating. You tilted your head, drawing him in deeper to drown with you, parting your lips, bunching up the material of his shirt in your trembling hands. His desire mingled with yours, the yearning he had felt in your absence slid over your own and fuelled it anew. Was it any wonder that he had come for you when you needed him? Was it any wonder at all when he needed you too, _constantly, endlessly_ and without any hope for this - whatever this was - to last?

You could spend every moment of eternity kissing him and still feel hungry for more.

But of course, it ended too soon. It couldn’t have ended any other way. 

His hand slipped from your hair to caress your face, forgetting the rough scratches that marred your cheek. You were forced to lean away from his touch on instinct, although your heart begged you to just stay still, stay _held_ , and suffer through the burn of his fingers on your wound.

The Master sighed an apology, breathless, and pulled himself back from you. “Come on, let's get back to the TARDIS so I can tend to that.” 

You nodded, and let him lead you up the path with his assurance that it was just a little bit further.

“Why did you park her so far up here?” You asked when you saw the TARDIS, enjoying the bubble of relief you felt when you spotted it disguised as some sort of local farming hut. “To avoid the Doctor?”

The Master shrugged, but his eyes were warm. “I felt your pain, she must've felt mine, she took me where I needed to go.”

“It's a beautiful view.” You assented, gazing out across the mountain vista, the lilac grass swaying in the breeze, the three suns and the ring system that encircled this gorgeous planet shining in a cornflower sky.

You watched the Master bite back a smile, the corners of his full lips quirking upwards. “Then she took me where _you_ needed me to go.”


	34. From The Waist Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this chapter definitely did not go where I thought it was going to go?  
>  ~~I think I was possessed by the Master's TARDIS.~~

You watched him run a bath for you with both tenderness and scepticism, eyes drifting between his hands as he tested the temperature of the water, his exposed forearms, and the calm expression that graced his features. The Master’s duality never failed to unnerve you. He was both kill and cure, salvation and destruction, the end of you, or maybe the beginning. It was impossible to be sure.

“Why are you being so… nice?” You heard yourself ask, slightly startled by the resignation in your voice.

The Master had the gall to wink at you, grinning up at you from beside the bath. “Am I not usually, sweetheart?”

Your cheeks coloured a little, and you knelt down with him, gingerly reaching over and trailing your hand in the hot water. “You always treat me well, and with dignity, but…”

The Master gave you an expectant look, and you could not refuse him.

“You are never usually so… _overt_ about it.” You admitted, then held up your dripping hands. “I promise you, I am not ungrateful-”

“I’m letting myself have this.” He interrupted. His tone was firm. “I know I have to get you back to the Doctor.”

You frowned, dipping your fingers back into the inviting warmth of the bath. “Do you?” 

The Master’s gaze was hot against your cheeks, and you felt your wounds burn under the scrutiny. He turned the tap off, and the resounding silence left you eager to fill it.

“Why can’t I stay here, with you, just for a bit?” You asked, but you did not know where you had gotten the boldness to do so.

“You don’t mean that.” The Master replied in a tone devoid of emotion as he stood up. “And you _know_ why not.”

“But-”

“Y/N, just let us have this.” He insisted, helping you up from where you knelt at his feet. Nodding, you let him thread his damp hands back through your hair and press a soft kiss on your forehead. You tilted your head back and released a hushed sigh as his lips trailed downwards, kissing your eyelids, your injured cheeks, your nose, and finally, your waiting mouth. It was a sweet, mild embrace; he was holding back for you.

When you parted, his chest was rising and falling steadily, his eyes were round and dark.

“Enjoy your bath, darling.” He murmured, stepping away from you.

You grasped onto his hand, and he stilled. “Stay with me?”

It didn’t matter how it sounded, what assumptions he made from your request, you thought that you might have done anything to get him to stay there with you. Anything at all, anything he wanted, that you _both_ wanted. 

“I can’t.” The Master said, closing his eyes and taking a deep, ragged breath.

You didn’t let go of his hand, you just kept on gazing at him with those wide, imploring eyes.

He pulled away completely, then paused in the doorway to glance back at you. “I won’t.”

\---

You stayed in that bath until it was stone cold.

Your fingers pruned, your stomach rumbled, and developing bruises began to litter your skin with alarming frequency. It was only when a headache began to threaten behind your eyes that you pulled yourself from the tepid water. Almost in a daze, you wrapped yourself in the fluffy, far-too-big dressing gown that the Master had presumably left for you, then stumbled your way to the TARDIS wardrobe.

You tugged open the first drawer that you spotted upon entering the vast room, barely paying attention. Foolishly, you assumed that the low-level telepathy of the Master’s TARDIS would guide you towards some pyjamas or something comfortable, like the Doctor’s usually did.

But upon spotting what the TARDIS had picked out for you, your eyes instantly widened as a deep flush warmed your cheeks, those were _not_ pyjamas.

_Why_ did the TARDIS think that _that_ was in any way appropriate? 

Arranged provocatively at the front of the drawer, laid out for your viewing pleasure, was a very skimpy set of deep purple lingerie. It was hardly even _there_ , all lace and satin and _teensy little bows_.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” You groaned, holding the flimsy bra up to the light. It was nearly _transparent_. The TARDIS made a low, warbling humming sound, like she was laughing at you. 

You dropped the lingerie back into the drawer and pulled open the drawer below it. It was empty. So was the next drawer below it, and the one below that, the cupboard beside the cabinet was locked.

“Oh, come _on_.” You huffed, glancing about the room with a frown. “Don’t do this to me!”

There was another resounding rumbling noise, that same amused hum, and you mentally cursed the impertinent machine. Why did it have to be _sentient?_

The first drawer burst back open.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry.” You conceded, speaking into the empty air. “I’ll wear the damned underwear.”

Another hum, this time brighter, accompanied by a smug flare of the lights overhead.

“One condition.” You added, holding up the lingerie in one hand. “I get to choose what I wear _over_ this.”

Silence. _She was considering your offer at least_. Then a small, reluctant warble, which you took to be in agreement. You nodded, then slid your robe off of your shoulders and began to fasten the offending garments onto your body. Of course, they fit you _perfectly_ \- it was hard not to be at least a little amused, and impressed. You thought that you must have looked more than a tad ridiculous, covered with bruises, pale and exhausted, and clad in nothing but brazen, bright purple lace. Pressing the back of your hand to your flushed forehead, you sighed, _this is so not how you thought this day would go_.

It was a relief to find some plain, unprovoking pyjamas in the wardrobe to your left (which was now, miraculously, unlocked), and you held them to your half-naked chest with relish. The TARDIS groaned her disapproval of your outfit choice.

“You’re presumptuous, has he ever told you that?” You grumbled, still blushing, as you scrambled to cover your lingerie-clad body with something more substantial.

_I’m right_ , she seemed to reply with another flare of the lights.

“Mind your business.” You scolded, and then stomped from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of want to buy myself some purple lingerie now yikes.


	35. A Feeling That I Can't Housebreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for waiting so patiently. After this chapter, it'll be at least ten more days until a new chapter, as I am very busy until the 12th of November.  
> Enjoy <333

You shuffled into the library, correct in your assumption that you’d find the Master in there. He was sitting by the fire, lounging in an armchair with his legs crossed in front of him, propped up by an extravagant footrest. He had thrown his jacket back on, and you quickly quashed your disappointment at no longer being able to view those lovely forearms. Perhaps your footfalls had been a little heavy, or else your face was a picture, because when you flopped down in a chair opposite him he looked up sharply.

“Are you alright, love?” Asked the Master, eyes narrowed but amused.

_My arse is currently eating the purple lace thong your fucking box made me wear_. 

“Huh?” You hummed, shaking the traitorous thought loose from your head. “Oh, yeah.”

He tilted his chin, gaze still fixed on you with cat-like curiosity. “You’re distracted.” 

“I am?”

“Yes.”

The TARDIS chose this moment to make a low, but insistent, rumbling noise.

The Master looked up, then back at you, smirking. “I see…” 

Your eyes widened. “What? What did she say?”

“She didn’t _say_ anything.”

“Master-”

“Oh, what is it? What did she do to you?” He blurted, leaning forward, sliding his legs off of the footrest so he could rest his hands on his knees, still grinning. “I can feel how tense you are.”

You didn’t speak, caught between telling him the embarrassing truth or inventing a lie that would probably fail to convince him. Either option sounded as though it could end in disgrace.

“Y/N, this TARDIS is _ancient_ , she can be… cold.” The Master said, voice more gentle, less teasing. “So can I.”

He stood up when you sighed, and you could sense his irritation at how you avoided his gaze. There was a trace of concern there too, you could feel it just bleeding across the bond, and it made the fireplace beside you seem to burn a little brighter.

The Master took your face in his hands, tilting your chin up, running his thumb across your good cheek, all with leisurely reverence. You leaned into his touch, and graced him with a bashful glance, all whilst your heart thudded wildly in your chest.

“She needs to mind her business.” You muttered, frowning when the TARDIS made a whirring noise of protest.

The Master laughed, brightly and genuinely. The sound was nearly new to you. “Oh? It’s like that?”

“It is.” You admitted with a rueful smile.

“Are you going to tell me anymore about it?”

“No.”

“So, I should ask her-”

The TARDIS gave an almighty rumble, turning the sound of gears grinding into laughter.

“Don’t do that.” You begged, hands tugging at the Master’s lapels. “She was just being… presumptuous.”

“Ah yes, she can be quite cheeky, delightful thing that she is.” He conceded, glancing down to where you were clutching at his coat, your fingers twisting closer to his collar. “You two have that in common.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good thing.” You murmured, still gazing at him with those wide, beseeching eyes. 

He smirked, then tucked his teeth over his bottom lip. “Trust me. It is.”

“Oh.” You mumbled, feeling nauseous. Somehow you found it easier to deal with him when he was being distant. Fidgeting, you brought a hand up to brush your wounded cheek, and the Master watched closely when you winced.

His own hand darted out to grab your wrist, pulling it gently away from your face. “Come on, let me see to that.”

\---

Ten minutes later and you were all settled in a little medbay, sitting on a soft bench. The room was small, but pristine, walls, floor, and ceiling all made of what looked like sparkling marble. Glancing about, you wondered why the Master had never brought you here before.

“I brought you here when I first found you on Orphan 55.” He revealed, and your startled expression made him chuckle. “You were bleeding all over my console room floor and I didn't want to ruin that chaise longue.”

“Next time I bleed out I’ll be more considerate.” You quipped, rolling your eyes. The Master raised his eyebrow, and then stood up to gather his supplies. You watched him move about the room, opening cupboards, occasionally muttering to himself. It all seemed so… _domestic_.

When he settled himself once more, he went to work, speedily cleaning and bandaging your tender wrists. They were barely bruised and only mildly grazed, but you appreciated his care nonetheless. The more pressing matter was your cheek.

“This will sting.” The Master warned, before dabbing at the deep cuts with an alcohol-soaked cloth. You bit your lip and tensed your fists, steeling yourself despite your exhaustion.

“What should I tell the Doctor?” You sighed as he discarded the bloodied cloth. The way his eyes clouded made you wish you hadn’t mentioned her name.

“I can get you back to that bazaar less than a minute after you left.” He replied.

“But what about…?” You began, gesturing vaguely towards your face, where the slap of Madame Malport still burned. It wasn’t as though you were ungrateful, you were just tired, and you knew that you’d need a watertight excuse to avoid the Doctor’s ever-present suspicion.

The Master looked you in the eye, and you felt the ripple of his concern, of his irritation at his old friend for the distress she caused you. He placed his hand against your cheek, his palm hot against the wound.

“Stay still.” He instructed you, and you did as you were told. You didn’t so much as breathe, even when the heat against your cheek increased to a burn, even when your skin felt as though it had been set aflame, even when curling tendrils of golden light glowed from under the Master’s hand.

And then it was over. The Master withdrew his touch, gasping slightly, and you pressed your fingers to the place his had just left. The wound was gone, and with it, any pain you had felt.

You gaped at him, stunned.

“What did you do?” The question came out far more accusatory than you had planned it to.

“I used some of my regeneration energy.” He replied with a shrug. “The Doctor will be none the wiser to our little escapade.”

“But doesn’t that… isn’t that like… your life force?” _Oh gods that may well have been the dumbest thing you had ever said_.

He laughed, a high, smug-sounding thing. “Yes.”

It took you a heavy moment to process what he had just admitted to. Then, you turned on him.

“You idiot!” You cried, exasperated, and watched his eyes narrow. “Why would you waste that on me? On a _human?_ ”

“I didn’t _waste it_.” The Master laughed again, but this time it was mirthless. “Don’t you dare criticise my choices, I’m not sure you’d like the reverse.”

You opened your mouth to argue, then shut it, then opened it again. 

“You look like a goldfish.” He deadpanned.

“I… thank you, Master.”

“For calling you a goldfish?”

“No! You know what I-”

The Master gave you a smirk, his head tilted. “You're welcome, sweetheart.”


	36. I’m Yours - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first of all, I’m sorry for the wait, and I’m sorry that this chapter is so short. I’ve been uhhh, going through it?
> 
> As well as having loads of uni work I managed to completely self-sabotage a really promising relationship with a boy I was half in love with. And that’s on ~commitment issues~ and ~getting overwhelmed really easily~ so now I have to deal with the fallout of that. Have you ever completely ruined something that would’ve been good for you but then had no desire to try and salvage it because the fear of the un-ruined thing was far harder to deal with than the guilt and regret that came with destroying it?
> 
> Anyway, sorry for the rant, I’m sure y’all didn’t need it. Please treat yourselves kindly, and I’ll try to do the same. Enjoy :))
> 
> **Trigger warning:** blood/mild gore

You collapsed into bed that night feeling safe and warm. The bedroom was inconsequential, just as bland as your one on the Doctor’s TARDIS, but the bed itself was far softer than the chaise longue or the library armchairs, and it was familiar enough to give you comfort. Disturbing as they had been, the events of the day lurked in the corners of your mind, but they were held at bay by the thought of the Master pacing in the console room just down the corridor. Unable and unwilling to keep your eyes open long enough to even take off that _infernal_ bra before hitting the pillow, you drifted into a deep, deep sleep.

That night, you dreamt you were in Hell.

You were standing in a field of crimson grass, looking out upon a city in flames, bathed in the golden light of a million fires. There was no smoke to be seen, yet the acrid smell of it lingered.

You wiggled your fingers in the waist-high, unburnt grass around you. _It’s not so different from Orphan 55_.

The thought jolted you, and suddenly you were much closer to the ruined city, sitting at the edge of the ruins with the Master on one side of you and the Doctor on the other. When you called their names, neither one of them responded, unmoving, emotionless. You reached for the Master, and your hands passed through him as if he were made of shadows. Where your fingers had split his form like smoke, he began to bleed, a crimson flower blooming on the material of his shirt as you felt the pain of it in your own shoulder. That original scar, the one he’d stitched up so long ago, burning afresh. The sensation was odd, detached, and your hand felt as if it were floating when you clamped it down upon your own wound. You gasped, and the sound was alien to you. The blood was cold, the blood that coated your fingers as you pressed them to your shoulder was as cold as ice, and when you dared to look at it, it was the colour of molten gold. Hazily, you watched in arrested horror as more blood seeped from between your fingers, dripping down your arm, dripping down _his_ arm too, pooling on the ground between you and the Master, curdling, solidifying, until it became a chain. It writhed like a snake, glinting in the firelight, before it curled its way around your wrist. The Master put his hand out for you to take, his expression still distant and devoid of life. You took it, and the chain wound around his wrist too, binding you to him. He turned his head away.

“Come with me.” He murmured into the hazy air, tugging you forward.

The Doctor was silent behind you, but you felt her hands on your shoulders, burning hot to the touch.

“Tell me your name.” You called to the Master, reaching for him, following him blindly towards the fallen city whilst the Doctor’s hands scorched your back.

He stopped, the burning stopped, the chain around your wrist turned back into blood.

“It's already yours.” The Master told you, facing you, but still faceless, and you tumbled back into consciousness.

_“Koschei!”_

You startled awake in your bed, scrambling upright, breathing so rapidly that the sounds of your sobs were lost. Swiping a clammy hand across your eyes, you leapt up out of the bed, and fled the room.


	37. I'm Yours - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR OVER 500 KUDOS! I can't believe it, you're all so wonderful <333
> 
> Also, thanks for your support re: my kind of breakdown/vent last chapter, it really does mean a lot.
> 
> Enjoy!

You ran down the corridor, bare feet pounding against the cool floor as you rushed towards the only source of comfort you could think of. The dream had ruined you, shaken the stars from the sky and left you in the dark, blinded by your panic. It was impossible to think, to _breathe_.

Hurtling into the console room, you only dimly registered the Master’s expression of horror before you flung yourself at him. You knew he’d never seen you like this before, this desperate before, this unguarded. If you’d have been any more aware of what you were doing, you would’ve resented yourself for it. But even as you sobbed into his chest, his stiff arms rising to encircle your shaking body, you couldn’t stop the panic that flooded through your veins.

“Koschei- Koschei, I don’t know what I’ve done...” You blurted into the soft fabric of his shirt, stuttering and hiccupping like a child. “Something’s not- not _right_.”

He held you tight, and held you close, but you felt him physically recoil at your words. 

“What did you just say?” He asked in a voice that sounded too cold when compared to the warmth of his touch. 

You shook your head. “Something is _wrong-_ ”

The Master put his hands on your shoulders and held you back from him, eyes wide and alarmed as he scanned your hysterical face. “No, what did you just call me?”

You couldn’t understand why he’d pushed you away, struggling in his grasp. “I- I what?” 

He held you still. “You called me Koschei.”

The rising panic is his voice snapped you out of your own; the tension dropped from your body. Suddenly, you were dizzy.

“That’s… oh my god, that’s your _name_.” You murmured in horror, swallowing down your nausea before daring to meet his eyes. “How do I know your name?”

His face contorted in a grimace, the misery radiating from him was dense and tangible. “You’re not supposed to remember it.”

The Master’s dark eyes reflected the glow of the console, hypnotic, the dancing light reminding you of what had woken you.

“I had a dream, and it was all on fire.” You said, the tide of your words turning fast. “Gallifrey was burning and you and the Doctor, you were both there and everything was crumbling.”

His hold on you tightened, fixed as you were at arms length, as if he couldn't decide whether to drop you or embrace you. “You dreamt of Gallifrey?”

“I don’t _know_ , it felt like I dreamt of _Hell_.” You lamented, wishing he’d squeeze you tighter in hopes the pain would ground you. “Tell me what’s going on, fix whatever it is you did to me!”

All at once, the pressure subsided, and he let you go. It took every ounce of your faded strength to stay on your feet without his hands on you.

“I can’t.” The Master murmured, turning aside, taking a few steps away from you.

“Why not?”

He clenched his jaw, silent. 

“Why?” You pressed, watching his profile.

“Because I didn’t do this to you!” He yelled, suddenly facing you. You didn’t even have the energy to flinch. His anger was superficial anyway, it didn’t tug at you the way it should’ve, didn’t burn your searching hands when you reached for it.

“How could you think that of me?” The Master’s voice was quiet now, once more reined in under that paper-fragile control. “How could you ever think that I would hurt you like this?”

You just stood and watched his pain, exhausted by him, and yourself, and it all.

“Even after all this time you still trust _her_.” He stated, and you tried hard not to hear the crack in his voice.

“I trust _you_ , too.” You sighed. 

“Not enough.” He said. “You promised me.”

“ _The Doctor lies_.” You nodded and repeated what he’d told you in the doorway of his TARDIS, that fateful day. “But so do you.”

He scoffed, and rolled his eyes, diverting his gaze. A flash of irritation passed between you.

“A lie by omission is still a lie.” You insisted, knowing that by your own logic, you were nearly as guilty as the Doctor, or the Master himself. “Just tell me what she did.”

The Master seemed to consider your command, looking back over at you with cool calculation in those familiar burning eyes. He began to approach, not stopping until the pair of you were toe to toe. “You already know about the bond between us, don’t you?”

Swallowing, you glanced up at him. You were startled by his sudden proximity, half-expecting him to have walked past you and left, certainly not expecting him to have chosen to address the thing that was confusing you the most. “I… I’m not sure-”

“The church graveyard, Ancient Rome, Starship 130613, I know you could feel it then.” He said, snatching up your wrist in his hand and pressing two long fingers to your telltale pulse. He smirked. “And I know that you can feel it now.”

 _Why was your mouth so dry?_ You swallowed, closing your eyes briefly. “When I left you, when the TARDIS took off I felt like I was going to _die_ it hurt so badly.”

“You’re so dramatic.” He chuckled darkly, before you shot him withering glare and his features softened. “So did I.”

You waited, trying to focus on the feeling of his touch against the soft skin of your wrist, the heat of his breath stirring your hair, the cold of the console floor beneath your feet.

“It’s only low-level, vaguely telepathic, empathic, but it’s _rare_.” The Master continued, filling the silence the way you had wanted him to. “Timelords _do not_ bond with humans.”

Your eyes widened, and you slipped your wrist from his grasp. “Telepathic? You can’t… read my thoughts, can you?”

 _Oh no oh no oh no please no, just let me sink into the floor and disappear_. The thought of being violated by him in such a way, of the Master having access to your private and sometimes scandalous musings, musings about _him_ , made you feel nauseous.

“Oh, have something to hide, do you?” The Master teased, watching the deep flush creep across your cheeks. You looked up at him with dread, feeling your stomach flip at the heat that lay just behind his eyes. 

He smirked and raised his brows before he decided to put you out of your misery. “No, I can’t really, not often. It’s the same for me as it is for you, I’m just more… _aware of it._ ”

“Have you always known?” You asked, dipping your head away from the intensity with which he was gazing at you.

“Since we arrived in that graveyard.” He confessed. “You’ve known since Gallifrey.”

You tried to step back, out of his reach, but the frigid metal of the centre console bit into your waist. “ _Gallifrey?_ But-”

He pursued you, palms flat against the console either side of you, trapping you. “You came to Gallifrey with the Doctor and I, you didn’t pass out on the TARDIS.”

“Master, what are you trying to-”

“Things got complicated.”

“Master-”

The pain in his voice was a shock to you, ripples of anger and desperation rolling off of him as he rambled his explanation. “I was going to wipe your memory, but I couldn’t, so the Doctor did instead.”

You released the breath that had constricted your chest, feeling the Master’s revelation, the Doctor’s betrayal, unravelling you like thread.

“You don’t seem surprised.” The Master said with uncharacteristic softness.

You tilted your head up to him, either to find comfort in his eyes, or to stop the tears that had pooled in your own from falling. “I think I’ve known that something wasn’t right for a while.”

He sighed, then leaned in to place a slow, possessive kiss to your forehead.

“I didn’t want her to do it.” He muttered into your fevered skin.

“So fix it.” You replied. 

“I shouldn’t.”

“Fix. It.” You repeated, this time as a command. His honesty had emboldened you. It was awkward, the way you took his hands in your own, raising them to your temples, the way you shuddered at the feel of his fingers just slightly slipping into your hair. 

“You’d trust me to do this?” The Master asked you, and you almost laughed at the tentative tremor in his voice. It was so unlike him.

“It could destroy you.” He added in a much darker tone. _That’s more like it_.

“Then let it. I want control of my own life.” You said, hands shaking as they held his fingers to your temples. “Just fix me, Koschei.” 

He sighed, forcing you to look up at him. Those beautiful eyes were fixed firmly on you, only on you. 

His soft lips parted, exhaling your name into the charged air. “This is going to hurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This whole fic is getting way out of hand, it was only meant to be 15k words_


	38. I'm Yours - Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you're all staying happy and healthy. After two COVID-19 tests (for UK uni students they were mandatory before Christmas hols) I am home safe and have more time to write!  
> Hope you enjoy this update, you're all being so patient :))

The Master was right, it did hurt.

It hurt in the most raw, intimate, electric way possible, having someone so present in your mind, combing their thoughts through your own, clearing the fog and returning all your pieces to their rightful places.

You remembered standing on Gallifrey, watching the smouldering ruins crumble, _It’s not so different from Orphan 55_.

 _“You didn’t have to do this.”_ You had said to him, heartbroken. _“You know you didn’t.”_

You remembered the Master’s anger when the Doctor decided to wipe your memory, you felt it alongside the anguish and the pain in your shoulder as you heard the Doctor’s voice.

_“After today, I’ll make sure you never see each other again.”_

You remembered the Master asking you to go with him, stay with him.

 _“I will make you my queen.”_

And finally, you remembered asking him for his name, asking for it because you wanted to tell him, you wanted to tell him so _badly-_

_“So you know that I...?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Then I don’t have to say it?”_

_“Say it, say it.” Oh, how he had begged you! “Please, (Y/N).”_

_“Koschei, I-”_

You never did get to finish.

For a brief moment, you regained yourself, aware of the Master’s hands still at your temples, his rapid breaths fanning your cheeks. You felt the pulse of his double heartbeat through his fingertips and tapped into it, stepping out of your memories and into his through the window he had left open.

The Master pushed you back, or rather, held you where he wanted you, away from the endless void of darkness and rage and pain. You saw yourself laying in the rusted dirt of Gallifrey, cradled in his arms, blissfully ignorant of all that had just elapsed.

 _“I did what needed to be done.”_ The Doctor’s voice, cold and uncompromising. A tsunami of betrayal swallowed you whole, left you gasping for breath.

 _“Just take her home.”_ There was a raw edge to the Master’s voice that you thought you had never heard before, the sound of it was unfinished, exposed.

You watched as the Doctor knelt, one knee to the ground as she leant in to brush a strand of hair back from your forehead with an almost maternal tenderness. It was entirely surreal to see yourself laid out like a doll, like a corpse.

 _“I was just toying with her, humans are so pathetically easy to manipulate.”_ The Master’s deflection rang hollow rather than true, and you wondered if the Doctor had really believed it at all, or just chosen to.

 _“You’ll never see her again.”_

The Master’s disbelief at the Doctor’s words mingled with your amusement, how she had ever thought she could keep the pair of you away from each other was laughable. Tragic too, in its misguidedness.

You observed the Master’s mind carefully as the memory of him picked up the memory of you, tugging at the threads of anger and disgust you encountered, hoping not to find them tied to you.

 _“Oh, (Y/N) and I have a lot in common.”_ He had admitted to the Doctor and you enjoyed the tingle of amusement, enjoyed the horrified look on the Doctor’s pale face. _“But that’s what you’re afraid of, isn’t it?”_

You watched through his eyes as he bandaged the wound at your throat, the one he’d inflicted upon you, knowing that it was mere moments before you would wake up to find your memories gone. It was at this point that the Master chose to draw you out of his head, and you came to, suddenly back in the room that you had never really left.

The console was bitingly cold against your back, your toes curled away from the chilly floor. You immediately longed for the warmth of the Master’s memories, the warmth that had been specifically for you, for the way he _looked at you_. The only thing on Gallifrey that he hadn’t destroyed.

So you looked at him, you opened your eyes and glanced up at the Master and prayed that he could feel the heat in it. Half-lidded, heavy-lashed, his eyes were already on yours, watching you with anticipation. You found yourself suddenly shy.

He had seen it all, again, seen it afresh with you. Now, his arrival on Starship 130613 made sense, his need to see you, the kiss you’d shared with him. It all made sense. You were at home with him once again.

“Am I still your queen?” You asked, only half teasing. “Or am I just your fool?” 

He released a breath, shoulders slumping in relief as his hands dropped from your temples to your cheeks. “You were never my fool.”

This time, when he kissed you, you weren’t surprised in the slightest.

“You know, I still want to see you in a crown.” The Master murmured between kisses, his lips trailing down from the corner of your mouth to your jaw, his beard caressing your skin. “I wasn’t joking.”

You hummed a laugh, winding your hands through his dark hair, hardly daring to believe that any of this was real. He kissed your neck and you fell back against the console, biting down on your lip hard to suppress a moan.

“Well, I wanted to see you with a beard and I got what I wanted so it’s only fair that you should too.” You admitted with a nervous chuckle. 

The only response he gave you was an appreciative hum, his mouth still occupied at your throat, lavishing your heated skin with hot kisses. He dragged his teeth over the hollow of your collarbone, and one of your hands slammed down onto the console to steady your shaking body.

“Would you let me?” The Master asked as he lifted his head to face you once more. He smirked to find you panting, leaning heavily on the console, eyes clouded with want. His hands reached for your waist, and squeezed hard. “Let me crown you, cover you in gold and jewels-”

“Yes.” You sighed with a rather pathetic whimper. “I’d fucking enjoy it.”

“Gods, so would I.” He groaned, burying his face in your neck to muffle his words against your skin. “So would I.”

The sound you made when he bit your neck could only have been described as desperate. His fingers dug into your sides as if by cue.

“Would you let me take it all off afterwards?” The Master asked in a voice so low you almost missed the heat that underlined his question.

Your heart, already beating faster, began to stammer wildly in your chest. The haze of desire that had enveloped you cleared a little, startled into clarity by his boldness. “Take it… all off?”

His head perked up, dark eyes scanning your face, your body. “Too far?”

You shook your head, blinking up at him. “Not far enough.” 

He tilted his head back and grinned.

“I’d enjoy that too.” You added under your breath. He, of course, caught your hushed revelation.

“Oh you _would_.” The Master looked veritably _ravenous_ , his lips shaping each word with slow and sensual precision as he leant in to kiss you once more. “I’d make sure of that.”

You would never get enough of the taste of him. The thought of his kiss had haunted you since the very first time, distracting you during the day, torturing you at night. It was a craving that you were more than happy to give into. His hands at your waist, fingertips pressing just enough to send tingles of pleasure up your spine, his lips on yours, insistent, demanding.

But, suddenly, your head was spinning. You’d been flustered the entire time he was touching you, the feel of him close to you never failed to have that effect, but the pleasant rush had abruptly become overwhelming. 

“Master, stop.” You blurted out, but he had already stepped back, evidently sensing your rising panic through the bond.

“Love? Are you alright?” He asked as black spots crowded the edges of your vision. 

“Oh, not _now_.” You grumbled, shutting your eyes tight, trying to stop the room from swirling. A wave of nausea made you reach out for him, your fingers meeting the fabric of his shirt and holding fast. “I think I’m going to-”

And for what felt like the hundredth time that month, you passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I promise that you'll get the good good steamy stuff soon_


	39. Eternal - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to finish this chapter for days, but I really hit a wall. So here it is, a little later than expected.  
> This year has been really hard, and with the Christmas restrictions in the UK, things just even harder for me and so many others. I've been trying to get my head round it all, and whilst I feel sad, and my mental health isn't the best, I am luckier than so many, and my mental health is not the worst it could be either.  
> I hope you're all staying safe and healthy, and I hope the following filth cheers you all up. I wrote most of it, about 900 words of it, in one go, unedited. So there's that.
> 
> Just a fair warning, there's smutty content from here on out.
> 
> Enjoy it, ya filthy animals!

The ceiling above you was not one that you recognised. This surprised you, since you’d managed to pass out so often in the Master’s TARDIS that you recognised most of the ceilings there. Or so you had rather amusingly thought.

It was a canopy of sorts, you realised as your eyes adjusted to the dim light, a canopy of the darkest blue, embroidered with constellations that were foreign to you. You curled your fingers around the sheets you were laying on, feeling the soft silkiness of something expensive, something hardly used. 

“There she is!” The Master’s voice made you lift your head to your left, spotting him sitting on a stool by the bedside. His eyes were alight with amusement.

“What- what happened this time?” You groaned, pushing yourself up against the rather lavish headboard. 

Blearily, you glanced about the room you were in, lit by what appeared to be a handful of flickering oil lamps. It was a large space, large and dark, swathed in deep blue and blood red, richly decorated with hanging tapestries. The walls were littered with ornate shelves laden with trinkets, most gold, a few silver. A thin but noticeable coating of dust lay dormant across every visible surface. There was no doubt that this was the Master’s bedroom.

“After I healed your memories, you went into shock.” The Master said, leaning back on the stool, stretching his legs languidly. “‘Thought it might happen.”

“And here I just thought you’d finally managed to fluster me into unconsciousness.” You admitted, watching him shake out his tense shoulders with a fond smile. “You didn’t think to give me a little warning?”

He shot you a levelling look. “I caught you, darling, you weren’t hurt.”

“You do that a lot.”

“Hmm?”

“Catch me, save me, stop me from getting hurt.” You clarified it with a shrug, trying to hide your sincerity.

The Master sighed, standing up and placing the back of his hand to your forehead. Apparently satisfied, he brushed his fingers up into your hair, lingering.

“Only for _you_ , keep that in mind.” He said; his voice was animated but his expression remained ambiguous as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Wouldn’t want you to single-handedly ruin my reputation, love.”

“I don’t think I have the power to do that.” You replied. It was easy to reshuffle yourself on his sheets rather than catch the heat of his gaze. You threw the duvet off of your legs, suddenly stifled.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, sweetheart.” He told you, voice just the right timbre for you to feel the warmth of it. “You single-handedly ruined _me_.”

You felt your face set ablaze, he was ruining _you_. Here you were, sitting in his bed, with him sat leaning over you looking as though he wanted to devour you. You didn’t know where his desire ended and yours began, or if they were even separate at all.

“Well, don’t you say the sweetest things?” You managed, cringing at the tremor of your breath.

“I _know_ you love it.” The Master teased before giving you a moment's respite, reaching to pick something up from the bedside table. “Here, drink this.”

You eyed the little glass he gave you, wrinkling your nose at the potent aroma. “What is it?”

“Scotch.” He said, chuckling at your disgusted expression. “It’ll make you feel better.”

After taking a glance at the amber liquid, you raised the glass to your lips and downed the contents. You coughed, then gave your head a little shake, the Master’s laughter doing nothing to help you regain yourself. But, the burn of it scorched through the haziness, clearing your mind, settling you. You exhaled.

“Better?” The Master asked, sobering himself at your glare.

You nodded. “Much.”

He took the glass off of you, plucking it from your grasp and placing it back down, all without looking away from you. There was _intent_ in his gaze; a deep, dark, roiling heat that had been veiled until just a moment before. Now, the fierceness of it burned through you just like the scotch had, consuming you, enveloping you, setting you aflame.

You gulped, sinking down the headboard a little, submissive.

The Master never looked away from you, even as he kicked his shoes off, even as he shrugged off his waistcoat, leaving him in just his shirt. 

“I’ve often thought about having you in my bed.” He said, suddenly, and his words hitched your breath. “This is not how I expected it to happen.”

“How did you-” You swallowed, closing your eyes and willing your voice to hold. “How did you expect it to happen?”

The Master stood up from the bed and ran a hand over his beard, fingertips tapping at his lips. You watched on, mesmerized, as he began to saunter about the room.

“I expected that I’d steal you away from the Doctor at some party, maybe Barton’s, maybe Queen Victoria’s, maybe Starship 130613.” He said, slowly, making you hunger for every word just because he _could_.

“And then?” You breathed, sitting up now, on your knees on his blood red bed sheets.

“And then.” He repeated, tasting the fantasy, shaping it with those sinful lips of his. “Oh, I’d topple a monarchy or two, crown you with the collateral, as you _desire_.”

You dug your hands into the fabric of your pyjama trousers, bunching it up, wishing it was his hands on your thighs instead. “What then, Master?”

He faced you then, and you spotted a dark streak of manic glee in his expression, felt his exhilaration rush through you like yet more scotch. 

“I’d take you to my TARDIS, and then I'd take _you_.” He told you, approaching the bed with languid steps. He leant heavily against the footboard as his eyes dragged up your body, making your toes curl. “I’d make you beg for it.”

You spread your hands, gesturing wordlessly to yourself, kneeling for him.

“Exquisite little thing.” The Master praised, and you felt your knees slip further apart just at his _voice_. 

He rounded the bed, coming to stand next to you. With the gentlest of touches, he crooked a finger under your chin and tilted your head up towards him. You swallowed.

“So _good_ , so _obedient_ , so ready to give me what I want.” The Master’s voice could scarcely get lower, the smoothness of it made a little shudder of anticipation drop down your spine. 

“What _we_ want.” You spoke without even thinking, only knowing that your hunger was too much for him to bear alone. 

You had never had this with anyone, never wanted anyone so badly that you thought you might throw yourself into the fire to have them. No one could awaken you like the Master, coax such pretty desire from your lips, tease out such intricate honesty with his every touch. You felt him with your whole soul; you wanted to devour him, you wanted him to devour _you_. It was a heady, complete, terrifying _bliss_.

_And you knew that he felt it too_.

The Master’s lips curled upwards, a genuine fondness trickling across the bond. The comforting warmth of it, his rare kindness, only served to stoke the flames already alight within you.

“What we have always wanted.” He agreed, then knelt on the bed with you, facing you. “If you are so sure.”

Your eyes widened. “Oh, I am, Master. I am _so sure_.”

“Then lie down for me, love.” He instructed you, and you did as you were told, heart beating so fast that you thought he could hear it. You trembled just slightly as you obeyed him, settling yourself down on his sheets, head against his downy soft pillow. It all smelt like him, just slightly, like cinnamon and embers and hedonism.

You only closed your eyes for a second, but when you opened them, he was hovering over you, arms either side of your head. You stifled a gasp.

He kissed you firmly to shut you up, then looked down at you, chuckling darkly. “Relax.”

“I’m going to suffer for this, aren’t I?” You asked, giving into the ecstasy of his lips at your temple, against your cheekbone.

He paused, flashing you a smirk, the brilliance of his dark eyes dazzling you. “Probably, but I will make it _delicious_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I flustered _myself_ writing that.... whew...
> 
> There's much more where that came from.


	40. Eternal - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god I haven't updated in nearly 2 months.  
> I had a break for Christmas, then I had 2 4000 word essays and a presentation to do. Then uni started back up and it has been chaotic. Then I got burnout.  
> I promise I will actively continue this fic, I am not on hiatus, I am still fully intending to finish it.  
> Thank you all for being so patient, I'm aiming to update every 10 to 14 days, but I can't promise a schedule.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> **Warning:** this chapter is explicit, and so is the next chapter, and very possibly the one after that ;))

_“I’m going to suffer for this, aren’t I?” You asked, giving into the ecstasy of his lips at your temple, against your cheekbone._

_He paused, flashing you a smirk, the brilliance of his dark eyes dazzling you. “Probably, but I will make it delicious.”_

His lips were on yours, parting yours, his teeth pressing down on your lower lip just to make you whimper. The drag of his beard against your skin was a new kind bliss. 

Tilting your head back into the pillow, you clutched at him as if he were the only thing left standing in the storm. One of his hands deftly brushed your hair away from your neck before settling there, thumb just skimming back and forth over your pulse.

The last time you’d been this close to him, touching so much of him, must’ve been when he had your knife to your throat. Far from scaring you, the memory made your fingers tighten their grip on his shirt, your thighs clenching.

“Feeling nostalgic?” The Master chuckled.

You looked up at him through half-lidded eyes. “I thought you said you couldn’t read my mind?”

He smirked, making a point of curling his fingers around your neck just a little. “Oh darling, I don’t have to read your mind to know what you’re thinking.”

He punctuated his brag by dragging his thumb from the base of your throat to your chin, only just harsh enough to make it felt. You gasped, openly, and watched his eyes caress your parted lips.

His other hand fumbled at the hem of your shirt, the cotton material of the pyjamas you’d picked out bunched up in his hand. You let him devour you with his eyes as he lifted the shirt up, fingernails sliding across your bare stomach in a way that set goosebumps rippling across your skin. You helped him tug it over your head, at which point he crumpled it into a ball and tossed it to the floor, already preoccupied with doing the same to your trousers. His impatience as he yanked them down your legs was both frightening and endearing. The recklessness of his touch, the sheer _want_ as he undressed you, made your head spin. In mere moments, he had you stripped to your underwear, completely exposed, completely vulnerable to his every whim.

“Aren’t you just the loveliest sight in all of creation?” He praised, and you felt the heat pool in your stomach. He grinned down at you, drinking in every inch of bare skin. “Royal purple suits you.”

You flushed deeply as you remembered what you were wearing. “It was, er, it was the TARDIS’s idea.”

“Oh, she has _good taste_.” The Master made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. “I do want it all off you, though.”

And with a hastiness that surprised you, the Master slid his hands up your ribcage and around your sides, reaching for the clasp of the garish garment. His eagerness caught you and you froze. His hands paused, and he pulled back, raising his eyebrows at you with curiosity.

Trembling once more, you took a deep, stuttering breath and glanced up at him. His gaze was expectant. 

“I-” Your mouth was dry, and you swiped your tongue across your lips to wet them. “I haven’t, well, I haven’t had much experience of... any of this, Master.”

He exhaled with a sly smile. “We can fix that.” 

You nearly _whimpered_ at that. If you were startled by how your body reacted to his words, your toes curling, your breath hitching, cheeks burning, you managed not to show it too openly. _Or so you hoped_.

“Oh.” You blinked up at him owlishly, desperate to let him have his way with you but so unsure as to _how_ to begin. 

With luck, the Master began for you, returning his hands to your sides, grazing his fingertips back and forth across your skin.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word.” He murmured, pressing just a little harder, pushing his thumbs under the band of your bra. 

Your breath hitched again as he unclasped it. “Master…”

“Just say the word.” He repeated, insistent. “Tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

And when he had you completely undressed, completely bare beneath him, you found that you very much didn’t want him to stop. You’d be lying if you said that you hadn’t dreamt of this, woken up more exhausted than you went to sleep because of just how much you’d longed for him. Feeling the morning tug you away from him, the clarity of day making your visions of him hazy, immaterial, before they faded altogether.

Aware of how much it had hurt you to be without him, you suddenly flung your arms around his shoulders, pulling him in for a desperate kiss. You weren’t sure what was more intoxicating, the taste of the Scotch, or the taste of _him_.

The Master chuckled as he paused for breath, you felt the rumble of it under your warm palm.

“I didn’t tell you to stop.” You pouted.

“I know.” He grinned down at you, flashing you a wink as he sat up. “That’s why I’m getting undressed.”

You watched, mesmerised, as he began to unbutton his shirt. 

“Can I…?”

Those clever fingers stopped; he smirked. “Can you what?”

You groaned and pushed yourself up from where you’d been lounging on the pillows so that you could face him. “Master….”

“Say it.” He demanded, voice filled with mirth, eyes filled with desire. “Ask me.”

With a hungry sigh, you placed your hands beside his on his collar. “Can I undress you?”

His grin made a flush creep up your neck, his eyes trailing down your body with a languid, entitled pace. “Oh love, it’d be my pleasure.”

Your hands batted his out of the way, nails tapping against the buttons as your eager fingers slipped. Looking up through your lashes, you found him watching you fondly, his breath mingling with yours in the narrow warmth between you. As swiftly as you could, you unbuttoned his shirt and pushed it off his shoulders, eyes fixed on the rapid rise and fall of his chest. The Master shrugged the garment off and threw it aside to join your discarded clothes, quickly standing to divest himself of his trousers and underwear.

“Thought you said I could undress you?” You said, your pout prevented by his sudden nakedness. 

The Master shrugged. “I got impatient.”

He didn’t have any of the modesty of a human, any of the instinct to avoid being exposed. He stood like a king beside the bed, like a statue, and you just _looked_ at him. Finally, finally allowed to just appreciate the lean lines of his body, his broad shoulders, his soft stomach, the strength he held in every taut muscle. Until you became far too distracted by the wave of need that overtook you.

The Master practically pounced on you then, large, sinful hands fluttering across your skin, one tapping out a rhythm against your hip, the other reaching between your parted thighs. You thought that he might tease you for your arousal, but he didn’t, instead he just gave you what you wanted. _Oh, he was_ good _with those talented hands_.

You gasped and grabbed at him to steady yourself. “Don’t stop, gods, _please_ don’t.”

“Who am I to deny you when you beg so prettily?” He pressed his thumb to your heat and you squealed at the quick intensity of it all.

The back of your hand was pressed against your mouth, half-muffling your wanton cries as the Master brought you to a high you had never before reached. His fingers were between your slick thighs, his lips lavishing your sternum with hot, open-mouthed kisses, undoing you with every breath.

“Go on, _come for me_.” He commanded.

And you did. 

As you lay, panting, chest heaving, skin slick with sweat, the Master withdrew his hand and pressed his fingers into his mouth.

“Good girl.” He said, appraising you. “Think you can do it again?”


End file.
